Dash Away
by chezchuckles
Summary: COMPLETE at 100. AU: Kate and Castle try to adjust to life as parents. Check out AC's preview video on youtube: /watch?v nARnCrP2Z98 Thanks AC!
1. Chapter 1

Dash Away

* * *

><p>Kate pushes the door closed to the autopsy suite and takes a deep breath, the images still too fresh. Esposito and Ryan are at the station waiting on her, but she needs a minute to collect herself after that. Even Lanie looked shaken back there.<p>

Bruising. Burns. Sexual assault. Evidence of torture for hours before death. No one deserves that.

She wipes a shaky hand across her mouth, presses her knuckles to her nose like that will dispel the smell of formaldehyde and cold death. And then her phone vibrates in her pocket, startling and immediate.

Kate pulls it out and unlocks the screen, smiling at the waiting text from Castle. He's at home of course, and she's really glad he hasn't caught wind of this one, that he wasn't in the autopsy bay for that one.

Oh, he can handle it, she just doesn't want him to have to. She wants one of them to not know about it, one of them to keep carrying sunshine and light while the other might be in darkness. So she opens the text and sees there's a video attached, with the words:

_come home. see what you're missing_.

Kate starts the video and sees their kitchen, floor level, with the counter blocking half of the view. A sound of deep thrumming, unintelligible, and then on the video something like birds cackling? And then her 18 month old son rounds the corner with his clapping hands and loud voice-that was the cackling-and he's maybe dancing or throwing a fit or singing, she's not sure.

She texts back: tantrum?

She's still standing there, waiting on his reply and thinking, _don't text me in the middle of the day and walk away from your phone you crazy man_, when she remembers twitter and so she calls up the app and checks his post.

He's tweeted it, of course. WriteRCastle says: _watch my son dance!_

The video is attached, even though she's told him time after time to stop posting personal videos on twitter for all the stalker fans to watch-especially of their son-but she can't help smiling at it, watching it again, needing this moment.

A text back. _No! Dancing! Alexis is playing a Flo Rida song. He rly rly likes Flo Rida._

She laughs out loud and puts a hand to her mouth to stop the sound even though there's no one in the hall with her. She walks to a bench and sits down to text him back.

_Flo Rida? I don't think it's Alexis's music_.

She checks twitter again, just to be sure, and then reads his next text. He says Alexis has acquired a new hobby-hip hop music-and if she, Detective, isn't so sure then she should come investigate for herself.

She can't. She's got to give Espo and Ryan the latest and-

She doesn't have to, though. Does she? She can call Esposito on her cell and give him the rundown until tomorrow. Take a break. They've been on this case since four a.m. when the call came in and she needs some dinner and some family time. She needs to wind down.

She might possibly also need to talk to Castle about this too, maybe, just a little bit, not like she can't solve a case without him…

She's calling Esposito and standing up, striding towards the garage before she can second guess her actions.

* * *

><p>As soon as the ugly precinct car stops in the station's garage, Kate is pulling out her phone again and thumbing through the repeated text messages Castle has been sending her since she started her drive back to the 12th. He's relentless with the texts, and has sent some more photos as well, using one of those app filters that makes everything look summery and wonderful. Rubbing it in, as he likes to say.<p>

_Wish you were here_, the last message reads.

Kate unbuckles her seat belt, her smile still pinned up at the edges by their toddler son's attempts to move to the beat, and slides out of the car as quickly as she can. She's told Ryan the ME's update on the autopsy, but Esposito has more information and she has to get it all on the board before she can go home.

OCD or something. Whatever. She has to get it on the board before she can clear her mind enough to go home tonight. There has to be a place to pause or else her mind just doesn't. It's always been like that for her, and not even Castle, not even an 18 month old who doesn't like to sleep through the night can shake Kate Beckett's need for thoroughness.

She's gotten more sleep recently, with Alexis home and apparently a light sleeper, but she's still doing her job on about 60% of the sleep she needs to actually function. Proving that she can function on less than she thinks she needs, right?

Anyway, Esposito has a cup of good coffee waiting on her when she gets to her desk (she swears Castle texts the boys to refill her cup) and the first sip is an instant hit-mostly psychosomatic-that picks her up again.

Her son makes her smile. But coffee keeps her going.

Esposito waits until she's swallowed a couple mouthfuls, and then launches into his discoveries.

"Vic's personal checking account was cleaned out two days before the murder. She got what she could in cash and then took a cashier's check for the rest, which we still haven't found."

Her eyebrow raises and the cup hovers near her lips. "Can you sign over a cashier's check to anyone other than the-"

"You can," Esposito says, interrupting her with a grin. "And she did. Turns out a Victor Franck deposited the cashier's check. I've got a couple queries running on the database to dig into his background and financials."

"How soon before you get results?"

"Tomorrow morning, probably. DMV's sent over a prelim, but I asked for the works."

Kate grins and already can feel her shoulders relaxing a little, her mind beginning to slow its revolutions. A place to pause. A natural resting place in the case that will allow her to go home and really be home. This is when she gets to eat dinner with her family, watch some tv, let her subconscious go to work. She'll probably solve this thing talking it over with Castle sometime around one in the morning.

Happened that way before.

"That our break?" Ryan asks, tossing her a knowing smirk. He wants there to be a stopping point too; he's got Jenny to get back to. Even Esposito has places-a place-he wants to be right now.

"That's our break. Good work guys. We'll take this up tomorrow with Victor Franck and the money."

Kate smiles at them, drains the last of her coffee, and picks up the black expo marker to have a go at the board.

* * *

><p>It's still light outside when she climbs the last few steps out of the subway and into the city. It hits her then that she forgot the car service that Castle keeps trying to foist off on her. Oh well. Only a few blocks from Castle's apartment and she can feel it, drawing her in, the pull of home so strong that it can sometimes make her eyes water.<p>

Yeah, so it's still Castle's place. And her own apartment is still owned by her, legally, though his mother has moved into it, and there's no way Kate's going back there. She married the man, strangely enough, and has given him a son, even more weird, and she still can feel like she's just stopping over for the night, the week.

It's not that he doesn't make her feel welcome. It's not that she doesn't feel she has a place there. Not at all. She feels at home, always has. She is just-independent-a solitary creature so often, and for so long, that while she needs her family, she also needs her self. She can't explain how it works, only that it does.

Thankfully, her son isn't clingy. Not even with Castle, who can be called his main caregiver, if she has to put labels on these things. At her darkest and most doubting, she wonders if this arrangement is healthy, but when she takes hold of herself and shakes some reason back into her sleepless brain, she recognizes what they have and how good they have it.

Her son is fine; he lacks for nothing. He has his mother; he definitely has his father. He is as fiercely independent and solitary as she is herself. Castle constantly talks about how alike they are-

Here she is again, repeating it to herself as if she's afraid it might not be true.

Because she is afraid, sometimes. Afraid that too much of what she *is*. . .isn't what her son needs from her.

But not today. Today it is still light outside, and the case is at rest within her, and she even thinks her mind is settled about that other thing Castle keeps bringing up-

It is settled. She thinks it's a good idea. Maybe once she's gotten enough sleep, it will even seem like a wonderful idea. Either way, it's a go. She'll tell him tonight.

Kate forgets to text the doorman for a head's up and realizes just as she rounds the last block and sees Castle's front door crowded with people - photographers, residents, construction workers - something must be happening. She doesn't want to wade into that one, so she turns back around quickly and heads for the side entrance.

She's got to dig into her oversized bag for the card key, fumbling in the pocket, her eyes alert to the city traffic. Her fingers brush the card and slide it out, and then she ducks under the awning that shades the side entrance.

It looks like a service entrance: about five steps down, recessed into something that looks like the cellar or basement for the building, the iron door rusty. No one ever seems to realize that the more well-known residents hastily sneak in and out of their building via this service entrance.

Kate hunches her shoulders and swipes the card along what looks to be like an old rusting padlock, but which hides an electric lock that pops the door open. She heaves it back, letting it catch on her shoulder as she swipes the card again-this time for the inner door that opens directly into the back elevator.

She steps inside and lets the iron door clang shut, pulls the elevator door closed herself, and then leans back against the chrome surface to rest for a moment. Every time she has a close encounter with paparazzi or fame-spotters, she has this absurd adrenaline rush, something she unfortunately realizes feels like fear, and she has to have a second to gather herself again. Ever since she had Dash, it's been like this. They usually show some mercy, and keep his face out of things, but they're relentless when they catch her and Castle together.

She flicks the key card over the panel and the elevator hums to life, lifting her up to the lobby. It will go no further, of course, it's not made to, and she steps out, hidden from the front lobby and the people outside, and pushes the button for the main elevator. The last photo they got was one of she and Castle holding Dash's hands as they swung him over a puddle just outside Central Park. Dash's back was to the camera, Kate's face was turned to look at her son, and Castle was looking at her. Castle called the gossip rag that published it and purchased the rights to the picture, then had it framed for her for Mother's Day a few weeks later.

This is her life now. Once inside the lobby elevator, she pushes the button Castle's floor and feels her chest easing a little more. She rolls her head on her neck to loosen the kinks and hears her vertebra pop in relief. She bounces a little on her toes to work out the tightness in her calf after the perp chase three days ago that still bothers her (she is not getting old; she must have pulled something) and then lifts her arms over her head and does a deep stretch, yawning.

Kate feels a hundred times better when the elevator doors open this time; she slips the key card back into her purse and fishes out her keys, smoothly inserting them into the lock.

She doesn't get the chance to do anything more because the door is being opened and Castle is beaming back at her with that pleasantly surprised look on his face.

"It's early!" He is still grinning, but now he's taking her keys from the door and dropping them onto the hall table, tugging her purse from her shoulder to leave it there as well.

"It is early," she echoes and smiles back at him, letting him also pull her jacket off and drop it on the floor-_ignore that, you can pick it up later_-and then he's tugging her straight into his arms for a tight, bone crushing squeeze. Just like she likes it. Tight and fierce, her shoulder blades practically touching, her toes just lifting off the ground.

Kate presses her nose into his neck and smiles, then puts her arms around him as soon as he eases up a little. "Missed you," she says and she knows that he knows she means it, means it more than just missing out on her family, but truly missing him, missing what he does for her at the 12th, missing what he does to her.

"Didn't Ryan and Esposito keep your coffee mug filled?" he murmurs back, cradling her skull in one of his broad hands.

"Yes," she says softly, the smile in her voice if not directly on her face. "Not the same."

"Momma!" comes an insistent yell, and then the bang of something hitting the table square on, the scramble of tiny, heavy feet against the wood floor, and Kate turns to watch him.

Her son is no longer clad only in a diaper (as he was in the video from mere hours ago), but it does look like he has picked out his clothes again. Blue plaid shorts with the Yankees logo on one leg, bright purple tshirt that says _My mom kicks ass and takes names_, and his Elmo slippers (which no one can get him to part with). Castle's done his hair up in spikes again, like a fauxhawk. He knows she thinks this is ridiculous, and she tosses an eye roll his way when she sees it.

"Dash," she says, grinning at him and squatting down to meet him with a hug.

Dashiell barrels into her, avoiding her outstretched arms to head butt her chest and roar like a lion. She rolls her eyes upwards-clearly intimating that this behavior is Castle's fault-and then grabs her son by the shoulders to put a stop to the head butting.

"Have you been dancing?"

"Uh-huh," Dash says, easily distracted, and begins weaving his head like a bird. "Good-good. Gooooooood."

He's a Castle all right. "I bet you are. Daddy put your video on the computer so I could see it at work."

"Gooooooood-" He's still yelling, crowing it in fact, and now he's running back towards the kitchen.

"Alexis is back there," Castle says as she stands to make chase.

Kate gives a sigh of relief and shakes her head at the boy's father. "You promise you're not secretly feeding him coke and pop rocks? I swear-"

Castle laughs and pulls her up in a one-armed hug, kissing her temple with gusto. "Where am I supposed to find pop rocks these days? But he comes by it honestly."

"Hmm, you haven't really met our mailman then, have you?"

He shoots her a faintly shocked, mostly proud look and laughs again. "You have a point." Because the weird kid who delivers their mail could definitely be a biological candidate for Dash's parentage, with his overeager chatter, singing at the top of his lungs to songs no one else can hear, and crazy high-top sneakers with their loud socks.

"You like Dash's shirt?" Castle says, waiting as she steps out of her shoes and kicks them towards the room. "Alexis found it."

"Seriously? She bought a shirt that says ass?"

"She did! I'm so proud!" He's standing with his hands on his hips like a superhero, probably unconsciously (though she wouldn't put that past him either), and she has a sudden urge to press her lips against his adam's apple.

But she's already pushed off her shoes, so she's got to step closer (causing the ball of her foot to pop with the release) and then stand on tiptoe to brush her teeth along his skin first, and then her lips find that spot on his neck.

He swallows hard and tilts his head down to nibble at the corner of her mouth before softly, softly kissing her. The softness is a sign, and she heeds it, working his mouth slowly, with tenderness now instead of ferocity, giving back what he seeks. She has learned this too, how to read Castle's mood and offer him a place to rest as well, a moment of soothing relief, before demanding intensity and heat.

Castle breathes shakily into her hair and suddenly crushes her against his chest, pressing his hips into her ribs, her feet trapped between his own. She holds him back, intense again but still, and her bared teeth press into his chest, just above his heart, before she presses her flushed cheek to his shirt.

"I love the shirt. And I'll be doing some of that ass-kicking tomorrow, thank you very much."

"Break in the case?"

"Just a stopping point. Still waiting for the mental break to come, but that's why I'm here now."

"So you can get back to work later?" he teases, and now the teasing sounds happy and genuine rather than lonely. She forgets that this makes him just as isolated as it does her, but in a different way. She likes to work alone, without distractions, but she wants him working the case alongside her, his clever remarks, his irritating charm, his leaps of insight. He hates working alone, despises being isolated, and wants to be around people-whether real life or fiction. Having an 18 month old puts a cramp in both of their styles.

"So I don't have to work alone," she says instead, because it suddenly seems important that she say how much she wants to be with him instead of without him. "So I don't do any of it alone."

"You won't," he says immediately and his hug this time is looser, more to his style, a snuggling kind of hug that presses warm points of contact all over her body. She likes these too, the cuddling Rick Castle, just as much as the knock-your-socks-off Rick Castle.

"Good. Stay right here for a minute longer, and then we'll go rescue Alexis from Dashiell."

Castle drops his cheek to the top of her head and hums a little, like a cat purring, which totally makes her grin like an idiot and her skin tingle. She burrows into his arms a little, nesting there, until her nose finds the opening in his shirt and presses against his undershirt. She takes a deep, long breath of him.

One arm around her waist, one arm along her back so that his hand can cradle her neck, her legs practically straddling one of his so that their hips are flush, and somewhere in the background, she can hear Dashiell singing an Outkast song only to interrupt it with unintelligible questions he demands answers to from Alexis.

"You'll never work alone," Castle says urgently.

"I know, I know," she murmurs back, eyes closed.

"I love you," again, and just as urgent.

"I know," she sighs and feels it reach her.

"But your son is going to be the death of me."

She bursts out laughing, breaking the spell and his hold on her, to laugh right into his amused eyes. "Daycare is looking more and more appealing, isn't it?"

He laughs back, but there's a reserve there again. She's pushing back, testing his boundaries; she knows that. It's mostly a joke, but in so many ways, she wants him back with her at the 12th. Back where he belongs. Can she really be jealous of her 18 month old son?

Yes. Most definitely. In her weakest moments. Kate resolves to put that jealousy away and firmly takes control over her still-struggling heart. "I have every faith in your ability to outlast an 18 month old."

He grins back and finally releases her completely. It's like she's come to him jagged or missing, and now he's releasing her back whole. Like finding a wounded sea gull on the Jersey shore during summer holiday and taking it in to nurse it through the break, then letting it go again on the beach. It's no wonder she can't keep away from him, no wonder she wants him with her everywhere. He does this to her. For her.

"So tell me about the dancing. How'd that start?"


	2. Chapter 2

Alexis leaves right before dinner; like always, her father's apartment is just a stopping place on her way to meet up with friends in the city and spend all night catching up. Castle used to mind, but he won't stop her from seeing her friends. Sometimes he feels like his firstborn has slowly withdrawn from him, as if she thinks she's unnecessary now that he and Kate have Dash.

Not true. Not at all true. Kate tries to reassure him that Alexis knows this, but he worries because he's always worried about her. And if he can really convince Kate to have more kids, then what will that do to Alexis?

But before that, Castle thinks he should reevaluate the master plan. Dashiell is more than a handful; he's nearly impossible. He doesn't like to be told what to do; he's stubborn to the extreme; he runs everywhere; he can't leave well enough alone. Dash has somehow collected all the best qualities of Kate and all the worst of himself and twisted them into a concoction of crazy: her determination suddenly becomes pig-headedness in Dash; her laser-focus ends up as blinders in Dash; Castle's charming boyishness (if he does say so himself) becomes emotional immaturity; Castle's cheerful spirit becomes manic episodes that just won't quit.

Of course, how can you judge an 18 month old on emotional maturity? You can't. And he knows that Dash is just a boy, and young, but Castle gets zero writing done and barely gets to see Kate either. When he does have down time, he's doing Kate's job, catching up on her cases, or he's trying to lure Alexis into town for some quality time.

He has four chapters due in two weeks and he's got fifteen paragraphs. It's the first time in years he's felt this panicked over a manuscript. And he doesn't even have writer's block this time. Instead, he's got pieces of paper and notebooks scribbled on all over the apartment, and yet he still can't get to his laptop long enough to get it typed out.

He wrote a scene last night at midnight once Kate fell asleep, but then Dash woke up again and was cranky and instead of making Kate get up again with him (Kate has had so little time to sleep lately), Castle did it himself. He and Dash roamed the hallways trying to settle them both for sleep, and after that, Castle dropped into bed and didn't even edit his work.

He feels like a shitty father. He doesn't mind admitting it. Problem is, he can't admit it to Kate. Dash was a mistake-well, not a mistake, a surprise-and Kate looked absolutely crushed when she told him the news. Devastated. Like her life was over. And he knew, at the time, what it was she felt. How was her work going to change, how could she be a good mother as a cop, what was she doing having a kid with him? So Castle spends an inordinate amount of time pretending that everything is copacetic because he doesn't want Panic!Kate back.

Yeah, well, he knows it's a stupid idea to keep this to himself, to hide how ragged he's been run. But he won't do anything to change the status quo. She looks confident again, seems to be on top of things at work and at home, despite getting about four hours of sleep at a stretch due to Dash's terrible sleeping habits. She looks like she's okay with this arrangement, like she could even love it at times, and he is all for that.

And the reason he's re-hashing all the issues in his head right now? They are playing an all-out game of hide and seek and it's his turn to hide while Dash leads Kate around seeking. Not that Dash exactly gets it. And not that Castle is exactly hidden. He does love the look of pure terror and extreme joy on Dash's face when he's 'found' someone. But the waiting is torture; the waiting gives him too much time to remember how tired he is, how little he's accomplished today.

Dash and Kate are wandering the kitchen again. Third time so far. Kate can't possibly suggest where to go next because then Dash will go the exact opposite direction. They've tried reverse psychology on him too, but he takes perverse pleasure in ignoring their helpful suggestions.

Dash is a sly little bastard; he'll give the kid that. He knows way too much. He can interrupt a romantic moment faster than anything, and he picks up on the least little slip of the tongue. Dash's current favorite? "You filthy whore!" Castle has absolutely no idea where Dash heard that one, but the boy loves repeating it and has managed to pronounce every syllable, despite having trouble with 'l' sounds and 'th'. Of course.

Speaking of, he forgot to tell *Kate* about Dash's latest exclamation. She'll be mortified if he blurts it out in the park tomorrow. It will make Castle feel marginally more amused to share it, though. Because goodness knows, it wasn't funny the first time. Or the 19th.

And here they come, finally. Dash is clueless and running full tilt for the study doors-despite the fact that he *knows* the study is always off-limits (he's broken too many of Castle's irreplaceable toys, and once deleted an entire chapter of his manuscript). Castle is behind the open hall closet door and the boy is getting closer.

At just the right moment, Castle pushes the door away and jumps out at Dash, yelling "Ha!"

Dash screams like a girl, startling so bad that Castle has to reach out and catch him. As soon as Castle's hands are wrapped around the boy's arms, Dash giggles hysterically, falling into his father and practically gasping for breath.

Kate's grin is almost as good to see as Dash's dizzy, relieved excitement. Castle scoops Dash up and grins back at Kate. "Our turn to find. Mommy gets to hide!"

Dash is still giggling and patting Castle's cheek as if to reassure himself that it's really his father. "Play train?" he asks.

Kate holds out her arms and Dash falls over into them.

"Everyone play trains?" Dash bounces in her arms; Castle sees Kate's moment of panic as the boy looks to be about to fall, but then she's got him secure again even as he wriggles. "Momma!"

"Hold still, little worm. You're going to fall right out of Mom's arms." Castle thumps Dash's ear and for a brief moment, it looks like Dash is going to take this into consideration.

And then he resumes wriggling. "Stairs!" Castle sighs. Dash always wants to climb the stairs, with no help, and he can barely clear the steep incline. He's been dragging the boy away from the baby gate all day long. Because, of course, Dashiell can make it over the baby gate, given enough time.

"I'm carrying you up the stairs-" Kate starts.

"No! No! No!"

"He's been doing this all day," Castle says helpfully, giving her a shrug.

"Baby, I don't want you to fall-"

"No! No! Stairs! Stairs! Trains!"

Kate wrestles the kid under one arm, finally, and gives him a stern look. He's not a criminal in an interrogation room, so apparently it's lost on him. He goes right on squirming and protesting.

"This gets old fast," Kate murmurs, throwing Castle a look over her shoulder as she heads for the stairs to the kids' bedrooms.

"I wouldn't-" Castle says, hurrying to get behind her to keep her from tumbling back down. Just as he thought, Dash starts bucking his whole body in her arms to prevent Kate from getting up the stairs while he is still being held. Kate, off-balance by Dash's tantrum, wobbles on the second step, and Castle catches her, his heart beating fast.

She breathes a thanks to him, her face white with that near miss, and resolutely starts up, this time with a better plan. "Stop throwing a fit, Dash. Stop or no trains."

"No trains!" Dash is probably just repeating her words, but he's still contorting his whole body, threatening to topple them all down the stairs. His face is sweaty with his anger.

That's enough for Kate. "Fine. Bedtime." She gets a vice grip on their son-a perp grip-and forges her way to the top of the stairs.

"No no no no no nooooooooo!" Dash wails.

Kate ignores him and walks into Dash's nursery; she turns the light out as she moves inside. Dash is writhing now and shouting no at the top of his lungs.

"Boys who pitch a fit do not get to play with trains." Castle says, trying to back Kate up on this one. She complained once that he made her look like the bad guy every time. Castle shot back that if she was there during the day, she would see plenty of his being the bad guy. But whatever. Not a smart thing to say. He's never had someone questioning his parenting, day in and day out, before.

Castle takes Dash out of Kate's grip and manhandles him into the crib. He's not even going to try to reason this one out with him. They took a bath an hour ago, so he's basically clean, he's got his pajamas already on. The extra time after bath was supposed to be a treat for Dash, let Kate have some play time with their son, but Dash is obviously worn out and coming unglued.

Kate sighs and leans into Castle's back as he tries to soothe Dash's fit with a firm hand on his head and the light-up lullaby toy. Dash is mesmerized by the lights and the soft music and the ocean-movement from the display hanging over the side. He stops screaming 'no' and hiccups with his tears, but he still presses up against Castle's hand, still wriggles around trying to get out from under his father.

Kate is a heavy weight against Castle's back, soothing in its own way, and Castle feels his arm going numb over the railing. The boy is shuddering now in his fit, his eyes blinking fast in the darkness, rubbing his face into the mattress. Castle finally moves his hand as Dash gives up trying to stand in the crib. Kate reaches past him and begins stroking the boy's cheek-an old trick that always makes Dash's eyes droop. The boy tries to shrug her off, trying to rouse himself to stay up for the tantrum, but Kate's movements are lulling him further down.

"He was tired," she says, very softly so that Dash won't overhear. "Did he get an N-A-P?"

"For an hour or so. He needs more. He has trouble sleeping."

"Even then?"

"Even then. I've been wondering. . ." Castle presses his fingertips to Dash's forehead in a kind of kiss or benediction, then laces his hand through Kate's. "Maybe we should take him in to see someone. A sleep study. Something."

She shivers a little and tugs him away from the crib, the two of them slowly backing out. In the dark room, the only light comes from the lullaby machine. It will play itself out in fifteen minutes, and hopefully Dash will wear out before then. Sometimes when it goes off, the absence of noise wakes the boy because he hasn't managed to get into a deep enough sleep.

"Really think he needs that?" she whispers. Outside the room, Castle closes the door softly, raises his eyes to meet her warm brown ones.

"I don't know."

"You're the one with previous experience," she says, her brow knitting. He sees her sudden concern and wishes he didn't have to mention it. But it *is* worse than he thinks it ought to be.

"I have previous experience with a girl. I don't know how it's supposed to be with boys."

"Ask your mom?"

"Right. Probably not the best person for parenting advice." Castle gives her a look, and she rolls her eyes at him, but there is a faint hint of a smile.

"You turned out all right," she says and lifts up to kiss the corner of his mouth. His lips burn with it suddenly, like a switch has been flipped.

"In spite of her best efforts, it seems I *have* turned out all right," he says. All he wants to do is taste her lips, rub his thumbs over her cheekbones, the soft skin of her throat while he kisses her, leave everything else about today forgotten.

So he does. Kate warms immediately, lifting into his body even as he hunches over her, surrounding her. She's tired-he feels that-but she's willing and devastating his mouth with her tongue.

She breaks away from him, her hands seeking but her lips moving ever further away from his. It takes him a second to clear the fog from his brain, but when he does, she sees it and finally speaks.

"I want you."

_Well, yeah,_ he thinks unkindly, _I knew that_. "Then get over here."

"I want you in the kitchen," she grins, her smile sly and slow and like a hook through his guts, tugging.

He groans and attacks her, unable to help himself because she knows what that does to him, and he knows what she means-exactly what she means-when she says she wants to have her way with him in the kitchen. His brain is short circuiting, but he thinks she's again proved just how smart she is, how brilliant she is, when she insisted he get a vasectomy after she got pregnant with Dash, because right now the last thing he wants to do is worry about her birth control since it obviously failed spectacularly with Dash, and why-

why is he thinking about that? Especially when she's got one hand practically in glory land and leading him back down the stairs, her tongue caught between her teeth and poking out between her lips, her eyes energetic and burning him, fervent and clever at the same time.

Castle trips on the last step but doesn't make an idiot of himself, thankfully, only crowds Kate back into the kitchen with his momentum, bringing her up against the counter and bending her back. She hooks her legs around his waist and pulls him down with her.

They haven't even gotten to the best part.


	3. Chapter 3

Her laugh trembles from her throat into his own chest as they try to catch their breath. He's not sure why she's laughing, but it sounds so good. However, the floor is beginning to bruise him.

"Mmm, shower now?"

She nods, and Castle carefully disengages himself from her limbs, his knees popping, the wood of the kitchen floor like cement under him. She hangs on to him, so now he's got something to prove it seems, and stands up with her still wrapped around him. She gasps and laughs again, biting his ear, soothing it with her tongue.

"Careful, or you're not going to make it to the shower," he growls.

"Kinda what I was hoping." And then her hands are on the move.

"Ahhh. . .Kate!"

"Exactly."

* * *

><p>They did make it to the shower eventually; she's taking advantage of Castle's strange burst of both frenzy and need, because she wants him all the time now. Hormones still adjusting (after 18 months?) or maybe just the long days without him lately. Whatever the reason, it comes on her suddenly and desperately and she doesn't say no to it.<p>

He never says no to it. And it's a good thing he's been fixed; she doesn't have the mental acuity to count days, not when they're married for goodness sake, and the birth control pills didn't work at all. Pregnant within the first three months, like the pills were candy.

_It's reversible_, he keeps telling her. _It's reversible. You can change your mind._ It is a luxury; she admits that much. Dash is just a lot to handle, and at the same time, she doesn't trust this easy, carefree rhythm their lives have fallen into. Mostly because it looks fine on the outside but she feels, deep in the silence, that it's not. Something is off. It's not just her working mother guilt talking, but it's something in the way Castle handles her.

Maybe it's that Castle *handles* her at all.

Maybe that's also why she wants to jump his bones at every second. As if she's got to prove to herself that they're still strong, that this hasn't changed anything, that it won't. As if claiming him will cement them in all those places that are cracking that she just can't find yet.

She's lying against his side, one leg drawn up and hooked over his. He's asleep on his back, mouth slightly open, not quite snoring but close. She's awake because it's one in the morning and she's been woken up by her son the last three days at just this time. She lifts her head a little, careful not to wake Castle, and sees that he's been writing on the laptop; it, too, is asleep on the bed at his other side.

She smiles a little, her finger tracing the pocket on his tshirt, then pauses to wonder why he's been writing in bed. He's done that a lot lately. But he complains in the morning about the crick in his neck and the twinge in his back because of it.

Hm. Kate slides her knee down slowly, then eases off of him. He issues a great sigh; she pauses with her heart in her throat. After a second, she slides out of the warm bed and presses her feet to the rug. The room's in deep darkness (she can't sleep with any lights on), and she creeps around the bed to get at the laptop. One of his arms rests on top of it, but she curls her hand around the back and wriggles it out from under him. Castle grunts; she freezes; he turns over, flopping onto his stomach.

Her lips curve up and she tucks his laptop against her chest, then tiptoes out of the room.

In the relative light of a night-time city that truly never sleeps, the view breathtaking just outside their living room windows, she sits on the couch and lifts the lid on his laptop. She has a moment's hesitation when the laptop blinks awake (he hates her to read about Nikki Heat before he's got it exactly right), but the document is still open on the screen. She scans a few lines, scrolls down as far as it goes, scrolls back up, and chews on her lower lip as she studies the chapter he's only got outlined.

Chapter five.

She checks the calendar application and notes the due date. He's way behind. He's more than running late; he's in trouble. He's in trouble, and he hasn't said a word to her.

Kate taps a finger on her lower lip, staring at the laptop. This is the thing she's felt threatening them below the surface. Castle's running himself into the ground to keep up with their son, while Kate gets to run off to work and dump all the responsibility in his lap. Castle is stretched too thin; she's complaining about difficult cases while he's making do with scraps of paper and half-written plot points. She's been assuming this is how he does it.

This is probably *not* how he does it.

To be honest, Dashiell needs to start going to a preschool. She knows how he feels about nannies, but a preschool would be good for him. He's probably bored at home, and that's why he's such a handful. She snorts to herself. A handful is an understatement. He's a wild animal, a beast. He's like a natural disaster. Bored at home? He's bored everywhere. Nothing is exciting enough for him.

It's a little disturbing when she contemplates her son's behavior in the dark, too-early morning. She shuts the laptop and tries to think.

He's going to need a week to finish this and get it close enough to final draft that he can turn it in to Black Pawn. A week of non-stop work. She's in the middle of a case-

No. No more of that. She's got to decide, here and now, where her priorities lie. Either she's in this, or she's on her own.

She places the laptop on the coffee table and goes to find her phone.

* * *

><p>Rick Castle jerks awake, his heart pounding from a terrible dream, and lays in bed, sweating, trying to figure out what's going on. The sheet is tangled around his feet, he's on his stomach (he usually can't sleep like that), and Beckett is gone. She must've gotten a call. He wonders how early she got up, turns to his side, and tries to figure out what time it is.<p>

Oh...no.

Castle jumps out of bed, trips on the laptop in the floor, stubs his toe against the dresser as he tries to catch his balance. It's nine o'clock in the morning and apparently, Dashiell hasn't screamed for him once this morning. Which is entirely not possible. The kid is dead, right? That's the only explanation. He's hop-jogging out the bedroom door, a cold weight of fear in his chest, his foot throbbing. Kate will kill him if something has happened to Dashiell.

He gets all the way through the living room, and halfway up the stairs before his brain catches up to him. "Kate?"

His throbbing foot on the fifth step, his hand on the railing, he turns back to the living room and blinks. Kate is in capris and a white tshirt, her hair pulled back in a loose pony tail, but most amazingly enough, she's on the phone and Dashiell is playing quietly at her feet.

Quietly. Quietly enough to let his father sleep until nine in the morning. Quietly enough for his mother to talk on the phone right in front of him. It's the end of days. He should start looking for four horsemen.

Kate waves him away, presses her hand to her ear and keeps talking. "No. Esposito, I said no."

Uh-oh. Why is she still here? Rick comes back down the stairs slowly, climbing back over the baby gate he somehow cleared on the way up. Dash looks up at him and gives him that wide-mouthed grin, getting to his feet.

He squeals loudly, causing Kate to wince and step away, and Dash runs for his father. Castle stoops to pick him up, accepts the head butt to the chest, and squeezes him hard. "Hey my man. You and Mommy been up long?"

"Esposito. I swear. Send me the financials and I'll do them here." She throws her phone into the couch with a huff and spins, her hands on her hips. "Castle. Morning." Kate gives him a wide grin that makes her eyes crease. He thinks he's in the twilight zone maybe? Kate in a good mood after a conversation like that and having Dash all to herself all morning?

"Morning." He blinks, feels the slap of Dash's hand against his chest to get down and lets the boy slide down his body to the ground. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a case?"

She chews on her lip, regarding him, and he can't fathom why she looks like that. Dashiell makes for his toys on the floor (he's playing trains), and makes engine noises as he scoots across the floor. Kate finally answers. "I do. But I can do a lot of it here. I've got him today."

"Got who today?" he asks, stepping into the living room and slouching onto the couch. He rubs a hand down his face, feeling the bristles on his chin and cheeks and neck. This is the most sleep he's had in ages.

"Got, got, got," Dash repeats and uses that new noise to run his train across the wooden floor to his father's foot. "Daddy got it!"

She laughs a little and slides into place next to him, smelling fresh and awake, smelling of coconut and vanilla.

Rick leans down and pushes the train back to Dash. He hasn't seen the kid sit in one place in months. Dash bounces on his knees and uses both hands to push his trains under the coffee table, hiding out.

Vanilla and coconut tease his skin. New scent. When she was pregnant with Dashiell, the smell of her conditioner made her sick. She hasn't switched back since. He does kinda miss it, but this smell. . .this smells like his wife.

His wife. Kate is his wife. He smiles back at her, and cups a hand along her cheek, smoothing his thumb along her lips. "Why are you here, Kate?"

"You need to write, Rick." She takes his hand from her face and squeezes it. "You've got all week. Dash and I are going to the aquarium today; you're staying here."

"What?" He throws a startled look to his son, who looks so appealing and cherubic with that cowlick of dark hair over his forehead as he scoots around under the coffee table. Still in his pajamas. Milk stained now. She's fed him breakfast then too.

"Tomorrow, Alexis doesn't have class until 8 pm. She's coming into the city to take Dashiell all day. No matter what happens, I will be here at 7."

"Kate-"

"Then, Friday, I'll be here. This weekend, I'm not on call. The case is either done or it's not-I'm not going in. I've got it covered until next Tuesday, Rick. You've got until next Tuesday. Make it count."

She moves like she's going to stand up and leave him here on the couch, leave him here floored, completely floored, but he grabs her wrist and yanks her back into his lap. "Are you serious? Kate. You've got a case. Esposito sounds like he's pissed, and you're-"

"I'm playing trains with my son. You are writing today, Castle. Don't make me say it again."

He doesn't want to write. He wants to go to the aquarium with her and watch his son make love to the dolphins, put his hands on sea urchins and sea anemone and nurse sharks. Nurse sharks. A great white shark? If it was a shark instead of a wild animal, that would explain the-

"See?" Kate is smirking at him from his lap, her forearms propping her up on his chest. "You're thinking about writing right now. I've seen that look before."

She looks delicious. Fresh. She looks better than he's seen her in awhile. . .at least, outside of his bed. But he picks her up and deposits her on the couch, drops a kiss on her forehead, and makes a beeline for his laptop. He yells over his shoulder, "Have a good day!"


	4. Chapter 4

Kate stands in his kitchen, her kitchen, with the muted morning sun at her back, her hands on the countertop, palms flat, and mentally prepares herself.

Much as she would for an interrogation.

She goes through what she knows, what she suspects, what her desired results are. She analyzes all the avenues of approach, the methods of coercion available to her. She is in control. She alone decides the outcome.

She's packed up a lunch bag with snacks and a bottle of water, his sippy cup, a package of wet wipes. She stuffs that in her over the shoulder messenger bag, alongside a pacifier, just in case, and that ratty diaper cloth he likes. All she's got is in her wallet, id, phone, and keys. She already feels weighed down.

No. Concentrate. She alone is in control.

She leaves the bag hanging over the chair at the bar and walks purposefully into the living, stopping at the couch to sit down and study her son for a moment.

He is back at playing under the coffee table after she spent twenty minutes wrestling him into clean clothes: Baby Gap dark wash jeans that Martha had bought for him, a white tshirt with a pocket, a grey vest with black stripes. Castle calls it his Detective Ryan outfit. Well, all except for the green, canvas shoes. She now understands exactly why Castle lets the little munchkin pick out his own clothes. She's a highly proficient student of mixed martial arts, and Dash managed to take her down more than once in their epic clothes battle. She's still trying to recover.

Now he's stacking his trains into a tower and then running another train into them to watch it collapse. She would let him play, but the earlier they get to the aquarium, the less crowded it will be, and the more likely he will be to get a nap after lunch.

"Dashiell?" she calls, and is pleased at how firm her voice sounds.

She's spent very little time one-on-one with her son. She knows that some would find that ridiculous, but it's not like she avoids him. She doesn't. It's just that Castle. . .Castle is always here. And when she has free time, she wants to be with him too. So. . .

So she and Dash haven't gotten time alone. Not that she's afraid. She's not. Kate just understands that taking her son by herself outside this apartment is asking for trouble. And she's not even going to be armed.

Dashiell sticks his head out from under the coffee table and grins at her upside down. "Mommy."

"Hey, baby. Come on out for a second."

"No." And his head disappears back under the coffee table.

Oh. Not-unh. That's not acceptable. Kate gets down on one knee and reaches under the table to drag him out, then thinks better of it, envisioning the screaming fit that will inevitably follow such an action. What did Castle tell her? Pick your battles.

Instead she comes all the way down onto the floor and crawls under the coffee table herself. Dash giggles at her and stares with those cat-like eyes, her eyes.

"What's so fun about being under the coffee table?" she whispers, her lips close to his ear, giving him a kiss.

Dash shivers with his whole body, then climbs on top of her, just enough space left for him to squeeze in. Her chest is compressed and she's got to suck in shallow breaths, but she's got a very giggle boy on top of her, squirming, who digs his fingers into the hair at her neck and grabs hold.

Oh. Well. How sweet, she thinks, and snakes a hand between him and the underside of the coffee table to rub his back.

"Hey, baby," she says softly, and lifts her head to kiss the top of his forehead.

Dash pops a thumb in his mouth and lays his head down on her chest, drawing his body up tight against her, one hand playing with her hair.

Wow, he's got to be so tired, to curl up like this. She rubs his back for a little bit, her eyes adjusting to the darkness under the table, and realizes why he likes it so much. It's contained and enclosed, safe, and there's so little light to glare in his eyes. She makes a mental note to grab his sunglasses from the basket in the kitchen before they head out. He has a hat in there too.

Maybe they should put something over his crib to make it feel dark and secure like this, she thinks, reaching up to stroke her fingers through his dark hair. His mouth works against his thumb, a damp, warm spot at her clavicle. His little fingers twirling in her hair, tangled, soft as a moth wing.

Then his head pops up. "Hey Mommy."

She grins back. "Hey."

"Where Daddy?"

"Daddy is at work." Down the hall, but she doesn't say that. "You want to go see the fish?"

"Fish! Fish!" he crows, and bobs his head, making his whole body rock, and his head smacks the table. She goes still; Dash looks down at her, his face winds up, and then he starts bouncing on top of her again. She oofs as the breath leaves her, Dash back to being squirmy and energetic again, forgetting his hurt. "See fish. See big fish."

"Yes, let's see the fish." Kate rolls him over, one hand at the back of his head to keep him from knocking hard into the table again. He does anyway, of course, and her fingers are smashed between the wood of the table and the hard as rock head, and then Dash is out, sprinting for the door.

Oh crap. She scrambles after him, can't remember if Castle told her that Dash *has* learned how to unlock the door, or if he just said that he was afraid he might learn soon. She catches Dash as he gets to the stairs, apparently diverted by that beckoning Mecca, the stair case, and she swoops him up, her fingers still throbbing, planting strawberries on his belly to distract him from his lost goal.

"Fish, fish, fish," she chants and carries him into the kitchen. She plants him on the counter, but he refuses to sit. Against her better judgment, she lets him stand up there, one hand on his waist as she grabs the shoulder bag and his sunglasses.

Dash makes a few exploratory bends of his knees, judging the distance with his eyes. He looks just like Castle at this moment, crafty and so self-assured, hatching a stupid, stupid idea. She's pretty sure that if she tries to catch him, they will both be damaged.

"If you jump," she warns him, struggling with the shoulder bag. "We will both get hurt. You don't want to hurt Mommy, do you?"

He tilts his head, but she's not sure he's followed that reasoning. "Mommy boo-boo?"

"Yes. Maybe. If you jump. Stay right here for the fish."

"Fish no jump."

She smiles, stupidly pleased. She can't remember ever hearing three-word sentences out of his mouth, and that one included a little bit of reasoning. "Smart boy." The bag is secure; she's got her keys in hand; her own sunglasses on her head. "Here, look. It's very bright outside. Want sunglasses like Mommy?"

Dash is still half-bending his knees and taking those preliminary pushes up like he wants very badly to bounce all over the countertop. She slides the sunglasses on him awkwardly, they don't go on as easy as her own, and accidentally pokes him in the ear.

He laughs and swats at his ear. "Ear." Although, he hasn't really mastered the 'r' sound, so that could be Ow.

"I know, sorry." Kate grins back and tries again, gets them on but crooked. The kid looks crazy, but happy in his little striped vest and old man sunglasses, and she has to laugh back, adjusting the frames until they're right. Dash shakes his head, looks left and right, down his nose, then up at her. He is not happy with the shades. She pulls out her phone with one hand and snaps a quick picture as he attempts to shake off the sunglasses.

"It's bright outside," she says again, knowing how inane it is to attempt rational arguments with her 18 month old. Instead, she grabs him up and carries him to the door, the bag bumping her hip, his feet kicking the bag, her trying to get her phone back into the bag.

Dash, in a move too fast for even Detective Beckett, whips the glasses off his face and throws them halfway across the living room.

Kate sighs. This is going to be a long day, isn't it?


	5. Chapter 5

What Castle doesn't know, won't hurt him.

She doesn't take the car service, doesn't call a taxi. He says they have the money, but she says the best part of growing up in New York City is learning the mass transit system. She hasn't forgotten which lines don't run after midnight, the split stations where you can walk across the street underground, or the peculiar habits of her commute. She wants Dashiell to have some of this experience because it's part of what makes this place New York.

She takes mass transit to the New York Aquarium in Brooklyn out of sheer stubborn determination. Dash is fascinated by the people, the crackling speakers announcing the stops, and the opening and closing of the doors. At every stop, Kate has to grab hold of him and wrestle him to the ground to get him to stay away from the doors. Just the idea of him walking out those doors and the subway car pulling away makes her mouth go dry. Every stop, she wrangles with him, praying under her breath, a mantra to ward off both her fear and Dashiell's desire.

After awhile, it becomes almost routine. Both the fear of losing him and also his insistent attempts to get out that door. Her phone vibrates during one of these moments, but she doesn't have a free hand to get it out. She tries distractions: singing, telling him a story (she's nowhere near as good as Castle), letting him have a snack, making a game of hiding his nose. He's undaunted. She lets him roam their car as he likes until she feels the train slowing for the next stop. She can't help but be absorbed by the look on his face as they change speed, the giddy thrill he gets when the train stops, lurches, stops again. And then she collars him, holds him down close to the floor even though the train car's floor is absolutely disgusting, filthy, and waits it out.

People get on, off, make comments. People ignore them, smile at them, frown at them. She feels both alone and so very exposed. At one station, Dash wriggles free of her bear hug and darts under her raised leg. Since she's already sitting in the floor with him, she collapses her leg down on top of his back, pinning him rather effectively. The door closes, her heart begins to slow again, and she lets Dash up. An elderly woman is giving her a disapproving glare. It takes every ounce of her will power not to snarl at the nosy old hag.

It is a long ride to Brooklyn's Surf Avenue and West 8th. It's a learning experience. So, does she still insist on taking mass transit with a stubborn, strong-willed boy who can't or won't sit still? A boy who's curiosity is so overwhelming that he struggles like a beast to get out the doors and see the crowds, touch the people, stare at the lights? Or does she give in and use the car service where it's safe, and quiet, and no one stares at her?

Good question. She's not sure of the answer. She *does* know that she's changed her mind again about having another one. Castle's just going to have to deal with it. She's not doing it now. If ever. She can't imagine being outnumbered here, trying to hang on to a baby and also wrestle Dash to the ground. Two Dashiell's? She can't even fathom it. Doesn't want to.

He climbs up her leg as she lets him up from the floor, then puts a foot into her ribs to climb higher, both hands on her left shoulder, trying to get a foothold against her neck. She sweeps his feet out from under him and sets him in her lap, giving him a tight squeeze that paralyzes him for a moment. He likes those. Then she sets him on his feet and stands up again, ready to roam the car with him. He grunts and moves off.

He grunts to get away, grunts to show his disapproval, grunts at the closing of the doors, grunts his displeasure back to his mother. So she is surprised when she hears a quiet little voice say, "Mommy?"

She looks down. Dashiell is holding up a penny with absolute wonder, giving it to her. She wants to gag, but instead, she takes the penny and says thank you, giving him a bright smile. He's very proud of himself, (that pleased look is so Castle) and his ramblings are getting smaller. After another few seconds of making random circles in the aisle, he stops at a seat and latches on to the edge, intent now on pulling himself up.

She pretends not to help, using her foot to nudge his bottom over the lip of the seat, her knee to steady him when he begins to topple backward. If he felt her hands on him, he'd pitch a fit and demand to get down, only to do it all over again, this time with her nowhere close, ready to keep his head from hitting the floor.

Dashiell may be stubborn and ornery, but who's the one insisting they ride mass transit to Brooklyn?

When their stop is next, Kate gathers him up from the seat beside her (where he has been standing up, mesmerized by the tunnel flashing past the window), both of her arms wrapped around his stout little body. "Our stop is next, so we'll get to go out the doors. But Mommy has to carry you. Absolutely must carry you. No walking."

"No walk?" he whines, his lower lip sticking out. His dark hair is mussed from their wrestling match.

"No walking. It's too crowded. You'll get lost. If you want to see fish, you have to let me carry you."

"Fish carry," he says solemnly, and she actually thinks he understands.

She stands up just as the train begins to slow, planting her feet wider to absorb the lurching stop. Dashiell bounces in her arms, chanting for fish, his little head twisting around to look at everything. Kate gets off the train and onto the station platform, feels relieved when she sees how people part for them, make room for them. Or maybe it's just to get out of the range of Dash's kicks and loudly vocalized pleasure.

He does wriggle to get down a few times, but mostly he's too pleased with looking out at everyone at this height to insist on getting out of her arms. She navigates the flood of people in the station and out into the bright sunlight. Dash hides his face against her neck, still babbling about fish, and she stops at the first break in foot traffic to look for his sunglasses. This time, he accepts them and places both hands to the lenses, pressing them against his face in relief.

"Glad I brought those now, aren't you, Dashiell?" Kate puts on her own sunglasses and takes stock. He's still got on both shoes, sunglasses are on, the bag is over her shoulder, keys, phone with 6 text messages that she'll wait a bit to read, and her wallet. Everything's here.

She's amazed.

"All right my little wild thing, how about we see some fish?"

* * *

><p>"Ohhhh," he breathes, his face pressed against the glass of the underwater viewing area. "Ohh, fishy."<p>

Kate is a little breathless herself, standing in front of a massive floor-to-ceiling tank. Just the idea of all that water held back only by glass; her child's face in rapture as she squats next to him, watching sharks and stingrays drift around in front of them. The sharks teeth are crazy, curled things that make their round noses even more vicious looking. The stingrays are beautiful and surreal, but perhaps more deadly.

Dash has both hands on the glass, leaning in, fogging it up so that he has to scuttle down a few steps every couple breaths to keep a clear view. Kate watches his eyes track the sharks, watches his fingers pressed hard, his nose flattened to the glass. She is amazed by him. The sharks, the stingrays, the sheer force of water behind the tank. . .nothing in comparison to her son's adoration of them.

How has she missed this every day, for all this time?

Her phone vibrates against her thigh and she kneels to pull it from the outside pocket of her bag. Esposito again. She shoves it back into the bag and ignores the trickle of curiosity in the back of her brain. She's already talked to him twice in the last hour, getting annoyed looks as she chatted about the ME's report while trailing after her son in Conservation Hall, watching Dash pet things and touch things and get soaking wet, but thoroughly engaged.

When Castle is around, Dash chatters non-stop. But that's because Castle chatters non-stop. Kate isn't a talker. She doesn't keep up a constant stream of observation aimed at her son like his father does. In response, Dash has been equally quiet. It's a little astonishing, because she has been steeling herself for non-stop mini Castle. Instead, Dash has been in silent wonder for the most part.

She has only chased after him twice so far. This feels like a monumental accomplishment. She puts her hand on his neck, strokes the soft skin there, her fingers in the slight curl. He's damp from sweaty fun and the salt marshes exhibition, his fingers leave sticky prints on the glass. He turns his head to press one eye to the tank, not blinking, barely moving, the stillest she has ever seen him.

Overcome, Kate takes her hand away from him and stands up, taking deep breaths, blinking her eyes. The shark in front of them flicks its tail and slides away. A sea turtle is making its slow and laborious way across an outcrop of rock, shell scraping. The underwater viewing area is dark, carpeted in chocolate brown floor to ceiling, a long tunnel of stations. The darkness is soothing, the light from the tank like soft fingers.

"Mommy, see..." Dash murmurs, his face turned up to her.

Kate squats back down next to him. "I see. You like sharks?"

"Mommy," he breathes out, pointing at nothing she can see from this angle, more water and more sharks.

"I see it, baby." She can't help getting close, her cheek alongside his, her body covering his, absorbing his warmth, her shoulders hunched around his. She can barely keep from squeezing him tight. "See that turtle down there? Oh, there goes another stingray. How pretty."

"See it, see it," he parrots, jabbing a finger at the glass. A shark drifts up next to him, its small little eye and brown, flecked skin filling their view. "Ohhhhhh..."

Oh is right. Her heart beats a little faster. The teeth. The watching glint in its eye. The shark drifts, letting Dash see its full, long length as it glides past the glass.

Dash steps back into her, grabbing both her hands and tugging them in close. She wraps him in a hug from behind, tucks her chin into his neck, and kisses his cheek. "That shark came right up to meet you," she says, giving him a little huff of laughter in his ear.

"Meet me! Hi, hi," he says, bouncing on his toes a little. The shark's tail is all he can see now, but he doesn't struggle out of Kate's arms.

"Good job saying hi to the shark. He's glad to meet you. Can you tell him your name?"

"Shark, shark, shark," he says. He's tunneling backwards into her arms, pushing in. Still scared maybe. Or overwhelmed. She's never seen him afraid, so maybe just over-stimulated. The dark viewing area is good for him, she realizes, has kept him from hurtling off the edge of excitement.

"Say, 'My name is Dash. Nice to meet you shark.' Oh, look, here comes another one." She holds him as another shark swims straight for the glass. At any second, it will smack its nose right in front of them. Instead, it swerves away just before impact.

Dash giggles and points at the retreating shark. "Shark! Back shark, back."

Come back? "It nearly ran right into us," she agrees. "Silly shark. It almost crashed."

"Crash!"

And then Dash climbs over her arms and off the landing, running down the tunnel. She follows behind, not hurrying too much. He's still stopping every few feet to look at another shark, pointing to it and looking back at her to make sure she notices.

"Mommy, shark!"

"I see it, baby."

This time he races to the stairs with great pride and begins clambering up. It's a wider staircase than theirs at home, of course, and even though kids and parents are coming up and down, they all make room for him. She follows along behind, a hand hovering just out of his sight in case he topples back. It's slow going. A kid pushes at her front behind and darts around, and she's faintly aware that the pushy kid could be hers in another year. Could be hers right now, the way Dash attacks life.

She begins to forgive other parents for their unruly kids. It's not like they can exactly help it all the time. She thinks Castle is a pretty excellent father, and she's got no insecurities about her own ability to discipline. But no matter what she and Castle do with Dashiell, he's just running at full speed all the time.

Dashiell makes it to the top and turns around to beam at her; she yanks her hand out of view just in time. "Up, up!" he brags.

"You did an excellent job." She praises him and bends down to scoop him up while he's busy being so pleased with himself. If that isn't Castle's smirk on his face. . .

Dash lets her carry him away from the crowd that's trying to get to the stairs and partly down the hall towards the main lobby before wriggling to get down. She bends over to let him, her hair in her eyes, and before she gets a chance to brush it back, Dash is off.

She hears an older woman to her right chuckle, and she flashes her a grin, a true smile that she actually feels this time, and follows after her son. She wishes Castle weren't so busy writing. She wishes he were here.


	6. Chapter 6

Rick throws up his arms and leans back in his chair, stretching mightily to ease the ache building in his lower back. He settles back down, fingers on the keys, but his mind is a pleasant, curious blank. He gets up instead, laying the laptop aside, and stands to twist his torso side to side. His boxers are bunched up and stained with jelly from the sandwich he had around ten o'clock, sitting at the laptop writing. He feels numb and gross at the same time. He hasn't showered yet.

Good time to do that. Get dressed too. Rick has managed to write two chapters and outline the next three. He's got scenes from one of the last chapters already written out (he had a wild hare of an idea that wouldn't shake loose, so he wrote it out and it fits and now he is writing to get to that point, to tie it all together). He's at a place where his mind is easy, the characters are content for the moment in their places, and he can get up and walk away.

Not for long. But long enough. He's starving again (he looks at his watch and it's one in the afternoon), and his eyes are grimy, his hair oily from sleep, and he needs to run. He doesn't have time for a run. He could do some weightlifting in the workout room a couple floors down, but how much longer can he really expect Kate to keep Dashiell out of the apartment? One o'clock. . .he didn't expect them to make it that long as it is.

So he showers in record time, his brain still caught up in scenes, possible scenes, for the book, Nikki and Rook spatting in his head, confronting one another to get it all out so that when he gets back to the page, he doesn't make them do something stupid. Like talk. Or resolve their issues. Definite series' death if he does that. It's all about suspense, all about the cliffhanger. Even the end of a case for Nikki Heat isn't the end of her issues.

He's thinking about that when he hears his phone vibrate from the bedroom. Oh. He realizes Kate might have called a dozen times or more, but he hasn't been near his phone to get it. Mistake. If she's run into trouble, he's in trouble too.

End of her issues. Kate hasn't been given an end to her issues either, has she? The two of them just moved to other issues. The old ones remain, buried for now. She still wears her father's watch, and her mother's ring. Only now, her mother's ring is her own wedding band. He had it resized when she was pregnant with Dashiell, so that when she finally said yes to him, he had the ring ready. He wonders what that says to her every day, to slip on a symbol of their commitment and it be the symbol of her loss? Rick shivers in the cold air, tries not to think about it.

He braces himself and unwraps the towel, then tugs on clean boxers and a pair of ratty jeans that are his favorite to write in. So soft, hole in the back pocket. Then he runs into their room and picks up his phone.

Huh. Just one message. A video from Kate.

_Can you translate?_

Rick plays the video. At first, it's just dim, a close up of Dash's face as they sit at some outdoor table. He can hear a honking sound in the background, insistent and intelligent, and he realizes after a second that he's hearing seals. They must be at the Sea Cliffs exhibit, where you can watch the walrus, otters, and seals outside. Dash's face is smeared with something-orange? He grins to himself as he realizes that Kate brought cheetos for a snack. Ha. He knew she'd give in soon enough.

He told her not two days ago: "But they come fortified with calcium. How else you plan on getting it into him?" Because the kid hates cheese. Castle gives him cheetos for a special snack sometimes. Looks like Kate Beckett does too. He's still doing a mini-happy-dance when he realizes that Kate has said something on the video. He backs it up and starts it over.

Her voice, disembodied: "Say hi to Daddy."

"Daddy?" Dashiell looks at her iphone with a tilt to his head, then turns around, as if looking for Rick.

"No, baby, say hi on the video. I'm sending it to Daddy."

Dashiell looks deeply suspicious of this. Rick wonders why, when he's spent hours in front of Rick's camera phone, the unwilling or willing subject of videos he sends to Kate all the time. Maybe Dashiell doesn't understand that it goes both ways.

The boy slumps in his seat and mumbles something.

"Good boy," Kate says. "Now tell Daddy what it is you want to go see."

Dashiell looks up at the video, totally dismissive. Wow. What a face. He doesn't believe this will get him what he wants, is so suspicious of it, and Kate has to cajole him a little. That face looks like Kate. Something in the eyes. He's got her eyes anyway, but wow. That face. He's never seen it before.

"I've got more cheetos, Dashiell. You tell me what it is you want to do, and then I'll let you have the rest." Castle hears the tupperware container shake off-camera. She's still got it. Be it interrogating suspects or her own son; she knows how to play it.

"Whole hog," Dashiell says reluctantly, and holds out an already orange hand for more cheetos.

Castle blinks, drags back playhead on the video, and listens again.

"Whole hog."

Whole hog? Obviously, he's not saying whole hog. And usually, when Dash comes up with a word he's trying to repeat from an earlier conversation, Castle's been with him. Castle usually *knows* the earlier conversation. But this?

On camera, Kate coaches Dash into saying it one more time, and instead of that beaten down answer, he gets more of the enthusiasm behind it. Which must've caught Kate's attention to begin with. Dashiell does some babbling in his own hyper tongue, and then says, "Walk, walk. Whole hog. Whole hog, Daddy."

Something is niggling at his brain. He *knows* this one. Castle replays it again. Listens to Kate's calm, even tones. Listens to Dash pouting and then launching into his explanation of whatever it is he is excited about. Castle checks the time on the message: just while he was in the shower then, about twenty minutes ago. If she's giving him cheetos for a snack, then they probably haven't figured out what to do for lunch. And the boardwalk-

Ah, yes. Castle grins to himself and texts her back. He knows exactly what Dash is saying because they went there together only a few weeks ago. Trust Dash to remember it.

* * *

><p><em>Hurry up, Rick<em>.

Kate balances on one foot and reaches across Dash to grab their trash, tossing it as they leave the Sea Cliffs cafe area. She wants to avoid the playland and amusement parks on the boardwalk, just because they don't have time for that today, and because Dashiell is getting noticeably tired. Instead of it making him lethargic and slow, his exhaustion revs him up, makes him bounce on his toes and run to the next exhibit like a wild man, heedless of people or permanent objects.

She wishes she could understand what it is he wants to see. Or do. She feels a little. . .incompetent as a mother, not knowing what her son is saying. He repeated it a dozen times to her, impatient and loud, growing ever more frustrated with her, until she finally made him sit down at the cafe and chill out. She knew they were heading for a meltdown if she didn't divert his attention, and cheetos did the trick.

They've got time for one more thing. She'll push lunch back a little bit more, since he just had a whole tupperware dish full of cheetos and downed nearly the entire bottle of water. So long as Rick texts her back. If not, they'll figure out what to do. Maybe eat at the cafe at Sea Cliffs on the way back up from the boardwalk.

Dashiell is already running for the exit to the boardwalk, his arms windmilling as his momentum carries him faster than his little legs can keep up with. The flash of his green shoes across the way have her hurrying to catch up, actually pushing people aside as she exits the Aquarium as well and plunges into the boardwalk.

The walk is wide and long, an endless sea of wooden planks and seasonal shops on one side and the beach in the distance on the other. The Aquarium's exit/entrance from the boardwalk is a strange, metallic-green, squared-off arch with fish and seals swimming overhead. Dashiell has stopped to touch the metal, yelping as it burns his hand. He shakes it off and keeps running, then careens straight into a wood and metal park bench, bouncing off the end like a pinball.

Kate sighs, trots over to him, and picks him up. "Any damage?"

Dash is blinking up at her, blood welling up on his lip. He shakes his head in confusion, glances back to the bench, then contorts his face. But he doesn't cry. He doesn't make a sound.

Kate raises an eyebrow at him, dabs at his lip with the collar of his shirt. He winces and draws back his head, jerking in her arms.

"Stay still. Want some water? It'll get the bad taste out of your mouth."

She pulls the water bottle out of her bag with the sippy cup and leans against the side of the bench to keep her balance. Dashiell squirms out of her lap but plops down on the wooden boards at her feet, using his tongue to push on his busted lip. She can see a knot forming over his eye as well. He is starting to squint.

Her level of concern goes up a notch and she dribbles some water onto a napkin, then dabs at his lip again. Instead of jerking away, he twists his head around so she can't reach him. That's fine. The lip is probably okay. It's the bump on his head she's trying to get at now.

"Drink this, Dashiell." She hands him the sippy cup, now filled with cool water, and he plops it in his mouth immediately.

"Hurt, Mommy," he mumbles around the cup.

"I bet it did," she says and touches the bruise forming on his head. "Gotta look where you're going, kiddo."

He suffers under her probing touch, and she is relieved to notice he doesn't look concussed. His eyes track her fingers, the people walking by, and his head is pretty thick anyway. The bump isn't rising too badly either, though maybe she should stop earlier than she thought for lunch and get some ice. Not that Dashiell would ever, in a million years, let her put ice on his forehead.

"Want your sunglasses back?" she says, reaching over to where they flew off and collecting them. "It's bright out here and you smacked your poor head pretty hard."

"Mouth, Mommy."

She gives him a sad face and leans in to gently kiss the side of his mouth. "Feel better?"

His face lifts, his eyes adore hers. She slides his sunglasses on, avoiding the worst of the bruise as best she can. Once the sunglasses are in place, Dashiell lifts his hands to mash them into his face again. He yelps when the frames hit the bump on the ridge of his eyebrow, and Kate leans in to kiss the top of his head, draw his hands away.

"Careful. It'll hurt. You got a bruise there, kiddo." She wonders if it would be a good idea to abandon the beach and head straight for food. Although, there's got to be something open down here, even if it is the off-season.

Her phone vibrates. She pounces on it, moving to sit up on the bench while Dash explores the flowerbeds with his yellow-tinted vision. He's pulling flowers up by their roots and putting his nose into the dirt, then tilting his head and inspecting the ants that swarm a piece of hard candy.

"Don't touch, Dashiell." She warns him, waits a second to make sure he's not going to try to pick up the ants, then looks at her phone. A message from Rick.

_Nathan's hot dogs. We went two weeks ago, with Alexis. Ate hot dogs. That's what he wants. Hope you haven't had lunch yet. Miss you both, though him a little less._

Kate stifles a laugh and glances up to check on Dash. Whole hog. Hot dog. He seems content enough to destroy the flowerbeds, and she lets him, because yes, she's a terrible mother, and she just wants a second to catch her breath. Also, she's a little bit afraid of that bump on his head, and if he's doing low-level destruction, then he's not running full tilt into other hard objects or flinging himself into the ocean. Also a possibility today.

Her phone rings and she answers it without looking, assuming it's Rick.

"Hey."

"Detective."

Oh. Not Rick. "Captain."

"Ryan tells me you're working from home today, Detective."

"Uh, yes sir."

"Did you know that Esposito and Ryan are doing an interview right now? Would you care to guess with which suspect?"

She has no idea. "Sir-"

"Detective Beckett. You are the lead detective on this case, are you not?"

"Yes sir." So this is going to be a dressing down. All right.

"As the lead detective, are you telling me you are at home instead of inside that interview room?"

"Yes sir. I am at home."

"Why does it sound like you are not at home?"

"Well, no. I'm not at home, at home; I'm with my son."

Captain's voice softens in deference to her situation, maybe, or to the fact that they all know what it's like to have to try and pretend you're a better parent than you really are in their line of work. "Detective, if anyone knows how this job is, it's Castle. I can't imagine-"

"No sir, Castle knows. This was my idea."

A long pause as he tries to process this. "Detective, let's get something clear. You are either the lead detective, and you are here doing your job, or you're not the lead detective, and you are at home."

She catches her breath, presses a hand to her chest. "Yes sir."

"Are we clear?"

"Yes sir."

And then the Captain hangs up.


	7. Chapter 7

Kate sits on the bench, watching her son sift dirt through his fingers and onto his knee. He's squatting down, sippy cup clutched in one hand, mulch on his other palm, his face close so he can see every speck. The Coney Island boardwalk is busy at one thirty in the afternoon; people rollerblade, stroll, and jog across the wide avenue. The smell of salt and sugar in the air. The brilliant sunlight. A woman with her two grown daughters is laughing as they vault the railing and trek across the sand. Past them, the beach unfolds like a blank book, drops of spilled ink are umbrellas and towels, people spread out enjoying the warm late-spring day. The ocean beyond is merely a smudge of brown-blue; she can hear its susurration from the bench.

She has to get back to work. She knew better when she called Esposito late last night, but she thought she could do it.

She pulls out her phone and scrolls through her contacts, trying to think of who she can get to baby-sit last minute. Alexis is in school until four; Martha has a play that goes on in two weeks so she's running lines and memorizing her stage blocking; her father is on a fishing trip with his travel group somewhere in Alaska. Who else? Oh, the girl that used to baby-sit Alexis. . .where is her number?

She feels a grubby hand at her side and glances up to find Dashiell climbing onto the bench, using her white shirt to pull himself up. Kate sighs. She doesn't have time to go home and change; she's stuck with two fist prints at her waist-

oh and now one right above her breast. Lovely.

"Momma," he says, conversationally it seems, and leans his head against her shoulder. "Whole hog. Whole hog?"

"Um. . ." Hot dog. He's still got his head against her shoulder, his body snug against her thigh and side, sweaty heat radiating out. Her arm is pinned against her side, his weight heavier than she expected. "Lunch. Right."

"Mom-my. . ." he sighs, echoing her rather uncannily.

Kate glances down at her tired son, his mouth sucking on his sippy cup like a pacifier. She brushes the hair out of his eyes, strokes it back along his forehead, avoiding the puffy part of his brow. "Well, sweetheart. . ."

He lifts his eyes to look at her, his lashes sweeping his round cheeks, his hands spread around his cup. "Whole hog, Mommy. Peas."

Has she ever heard him ask please? Has she ever had him come up and cuddle with her since he learned to run away?

"Okay, baby. Hot dog. Let's get you a hot dog."

He picks up his head, both eyebrows raised over his dark eyes, his mouth open in a round 'O' of happiness. "Whole hog? Whole hog!"

She can't help the smile that spreads across her face in response to his sleepy enthusiasm. "Hot dog, that's right. Are you ready? It's a little bit of a walk to Nathan's."

Dashiell's eyes blink slowly, but he sits up, pushes himself forward to the edge of the bench. Kate gathers their stuff, shoves everything back into her bag, and stands up waiting on him to get down. She hovers just out of his view. Dash begins to tilt precariously; she lunges forward and catches him just as he topples off the seat headfirst. Her heart is pounding; she cradles him close and presses his cheek to her shoulder, trying to catch her breath.

After a second, she can set him down again, her heart no longer in her throat. He wobbles at her feet so she grabs his hand to steady him. Freaking out about his fall would only make him do it on purpose the next time. Her boy likes it when they make a fuss; he thrives on their reactions.

Dashiell looks up at her. She braces herself for a tantrum, but instead, he lifts his other arm towards her too. "Carry you."

Oh. How has she become this person?-totally melted by her 18 month old son. Kate chews her bottom lip, reaches down and picks him up again. Dashiell curls up against her chest, a sweaty, dirty mess, his lips open against her collarbone. His little hand curls in her bra strap, holding on. Another handprint, she thinks, shaking her head and brushing her lips across his bruised eyebrow.

"Momma will carry you," she says. "Even though you are a heavy, sweaty boy." Kate adjusts her arms again then heads off down the boardwalk to Stillwell. After a minute, she manages to maneuver her phone out of the bag, shifting Dashiell to her other arm, glad of all those workouts as her shoulder strains.

She runs through her contacts as she walks, trying to calculate how long it will take to get a hot dog, run to the subway, get off at the loft-

Maybe she *will* call Rick's car service. Much faster. Meet up with Lanie? No, Lanie is still at work, probably. Um, Victoria? No, she's at college this year.

Dashiell burrows into her chest, gives a deep sigh, then pops his head up to see the seagulls wheeling close by. "Mommy."

"I see, baby. Seagulls. Birds. They might like to eat your hot dog bun." Sophia just gave birth to her own son not two weeks ago; it would be so rude to foist Dash on her. Jenny wasn't in town this week either. What about that girl in their building? What was her name? Maybe she can call Rick and get him to run down there and ask. Nope, no good. Rick would insist she bring him home, not worry about getting a sitter.

"No, Momma."

"Hmm?"

"Carry you."

"I am carrying you, Dashiell," she says absently, still keeping one eye on the boardwalk in front of her, and the other on her phone's contacts' list.

"Momma carry you."

"Yes, baby, I am."

"Momma. Mom-my. Mom-my."

She looks down and laughs at him; he's rolling his head back and forth on her chest, smearing cheetos dust, dirt, and sweat across her shirt, chanting her name. She sighs. "Oh, Dashiell. You're making it impossible, my little wild man." She drops her chin to his head, thinking fast. Does she have time to change?

Kate runs back through her call list until she finds the one she needs, then presses send.

* * *

><p>Rick is halfway through Nikki's abduction scene, his whole body tense as his fingers slide along the keys, getting her deeper into trouble with every word, when his phone goes off again. He startles so bad that the laptop bounces on his lap, nearly falls; he has to catch it by the edge, clutch it to his chest.<p>

He saves his document, grabs his phone from the desk.

Video message from Kate. Rick puts the phone on the desktop, goes back to his scene. He roughs Nikki up a little, makes Rook panic, and has the serial killer do some more taunting. With all the good lines now on the page, the scene isn't finished, but he can do that later. He's managed to maintain his momentum, his mood, despite the video waiting on him.

When he's ready, Rick picks up his phone again.

She's turned it around so that he can see both of them, sitting together on a bar stool pulled up to one of the counters at Nathan's hot dog stand. Her sunglasses are pushed up on her forehead, her hair spilling out in brown-gold waves around the frames. Dashiell is wearing his sunglasses too, even though it's dim under the awning, and there's a huge goose egg just above his eye. They both have hot dogs. He wonders about the knot on the kid's head.

Kate takes a huge bite of her hot dog; Dashiell mimics her and takes his own in his fist and crams it in his mouth. Castle chuckles. He forgot to mention that she should probably cut the hot dog up into little pieces. But Dashiell is going at it, chewing on the end like it's a popsicle, or a dog gnawing on a bone. His forehead is mottled purple already. And is that ketchup on his lip or blood? Poor kid. Poor Kate; she looks happy but worn out.

Kate swallows and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Is her shirt dirty? "Say hi to Daddy."

Dashiell takes the hot dog out of his mouth and waves it. He's sitting in Kate's lap, which is definitely different. Castle hasn't seen the kid sit still long enough to be in anyone's lap. "Da-deeeeeeeee."

Castle laughs in the empty loft and rubs a hand over his chin as he watches Kate press a napkin to Dashiell's ketchup-smeared chin and cheeks. "Tell Daddy what you got to eat for lunch."

"Whole hog! Whole hog! Whole hog!"

Behind Kate's shoulder, he can see an older woman laughing, pointing out Castle's son to her companion. The Nathan's waitress is hovering just at the edge, and her smile is wide too. Yeah, it's funny when you're not the one in charge of all that energetic, non-stop bundle of crazy.

"That's right, wild man. Hot dog! Even Mommy had to have a hot dog," Kate says, and Castle can see her roll her eyes. Ah, so the hot dog eating wasn't her idea. Yeah, that sounds more like it.

"Momma!" Dashiell says insistently, and then brings up his hot dog to her face, accidentally smacks her cheek with it, smearing ketchup. Castle is shocked to see Kate belly-laugh so hard she nearly topples them both off the stool. The video is shaking with her laughter; it angles away, up, he catches just the edge of her face in the camera's view, sees the wide edge of her mouth, open in laughter.

God, she's so beautiful. For a second, he can't stand that they're not with him, that he can't reach out and pull them both into him in a fierce hug. And then he knows what Rook wants to do, needs to do, and how Nikki will get out of this one on her own, despite Rook's help, and he's pulling his laptop back up, starting to type even though the video isn't over, hears Dashiell and Kate one last time before it ends:

"Say bye to Daddy. Say write fast, Daddy!"

"Wife hast hast hast hast. . .Whole hog!"

Whole hog. Castle is still laughing when the video ends, but he's writing as he laughs, writing even though his grin is all out of proportion to the mortal danger he's placed Nikki Heat in. He's missed this. Wow, he's needed this. He loves his son, but he needs this too.


	8. Chapter 8

While taking the long walk to Nathan's, she didn't call for a baby-sitter; she called Esposito.

As she watches her son gnaw on his hot dog, smearing ketchup across his cheeks, she worries about it. But not enough to call Esposito and take it back. The Captain will either be furious, or he'll be secretly pleased with her. Instead of dropping everything and toeing the line, she'd made Esposito lead detective on the case. For just this case.

It's obvious to her now. She has made a nice mess of her priorities recently, because Castle let her, because she was afraid of failing. Or because she didn't want things to change, for things to get to a point where she wasn't in control of her life anymore. She's not sure exactly how it came about, except that she is good at her job, very good, even without Castle, and putting time and effort and heart into her job has always been easy. She just kept doing that.

But her son. Dashiell has a sticky hand on her thigh as he eats, almost as if he's holding her there, as if he knows she almost didn't choose him. He leans into her. She's got so many stains on her white shirt, her black capris, that she's past embarrassed about it and has moved on to acceptance. This is how life works with Dash.

"Whole hog," he murmurs to himself, wriggling in his seat with delight.

She takes another bite of her own hot dog, tries to keep from thinking too long about Esposito taking point on this case. Now she can take a few personal days this week, which means she can call Alexis and tell her to stay at school tomorrow. She only has one other week of vacation then, after this, which will make Rick whine when it comes time for a summer vacation, but last year's two week vacation was a misery for her (with a six month old) so she's not exactly disappointed.

Esposito can handle a case on his own. She doesn't need to tell them what to do. They solve plenty of cases without her when their precinct catches a lot of bodies at once. It's not like Esposito is a newbie. She won't lose her job.

She hates that she's got to keep reassuring herself. This is the *right* decision. She knows that.

"Momma," Dash says suddenly, and leans into her again, wriggling into her side.

"Hey, little man." Kate strokes a finger over his arm, the last spot of skin that doesn't have cheetos or ketchup smears. "Having a good day?"

"Day, day, day!" He chants back at her with a grin.

"Me too. Are you done with your hot dog?"

It's mostly in little pieces around his face, dropped down his vest, scattered across the paper plate. He's eaten maybe half of it then. All of the fries. She takes the last bite of her own hot dog and wipes her mouth, swallows a gulp of water to wash out the aftertaste. She grabs the pile of napkins and starts cleaning him up, wiping off ketchup where she can, flicking hot dog from his clothes onto the paper plate. Dashiell squirms and tries to get down.

She chose the high stools at the bar that frames the hot dog stand just for that reason. Turns out to be a good idea. Dashiell maneuvers until he's on his belly on the stool, peering at the ground such a long way away, but he doesn't try to drop down. She keeps a hand on his back, just in case, and gets wet wipes out of her bag. She has to wipe down every inch of his skin, then moves around the stool to get at his face.

Dashiell cries out and jerks his head away, smacking it into the underside of the bar. His face crumples immediately, fat tears dripping as he wails. Kate sighs, finishes wiping ketchup, cheetos, and fruit juice from his face, using his tears to get at the sticky stuff, until she's satisfied she's gotten most of it, and then she reaches in to pick him up.

"It's okay. You're okay," she murmurs, picking up their trash with one hand, juggling him in her other arm. "Such a tired boy. Let's throw this stuff away and then head home."

He cries into her shirt, snuggling in, snot and all, and the tears soon soak right through to her skin. Yep, this is what she made Esposito lead detective for. This right here.

She sighs again, laughs a little to herself, and shoves all their trash into the large garbage can at the street side, balancing her son on her hip as his crying winds down. She goes back for the bag and slings it over her shoulder, gets it into place by readjusting Dashiell. He wraps his arms around her neck, burying his fingers in her hair and twirling. His cheek is pressed against her collarbone so that his lips tickle her neck, still whimpering and moaning like a wounded Castle.

Kate wraps both arms around his heavy weight, rubs his back with a hand, drops a kiss to the top of his head. Grimy, both of them, and worn out, both of them, and this is probably one of the craziest days she's spent in a long time, but wow, she's surprised at how much this has meant to her. She hasn't absolutely loved it, the day, not all of it. He's a wild thing, and he won't stay still long enough for her to relax, but he's not as annoying as she feared. Is that an awful thing to think about your son? That you're glad he's less annoying than you expected. That at least he's joyful when he's being wild?

But right now, the feel of his sticky, warm little body against her chest, the drag of his fingers in her hair. . .

She's been turned into a mushy, frazzled mess by this kid.

And she's given Esposito the lead on the case.

* * *

><p>On the subway, she gets to sit down with Dashiell in her lap, his lashes fluttering as he fights sleep. She closes her eyes, lets her guard down a little, revels in the relative quiet. No wrestling matches on the floor. Just have to wear the kid out.<p>

One little fist clenches around the strap of her bra through her shirt, the other is at her neck. Kate pulls out her phone and checks her messages again. Esposito sent her a reassuring text saying they have things covered, and Ryan texted her that she's made a huge mistake: Esposito's head will never shrink back down after this.

She smiles to herself and pushes her phone back in the bag. Dashiell smacks his lips and breathes heavily, finally letting his eyes stay closed. She's proud of herself for managing the whole day with her son without major incidents (he just got lost for five minutes, and really, she hadn't lost it, not really). And still riding home on New York's public transportation too. She's grinning now, so pleased, relieved really, chewing on her lip because she wants so badly to call Castle and gloat.

It's nearly two-thirty. He's dead weight against her. Does she dare hope for a nap? She'll take Dashiell home then; maybe if she's quiet and carries him inside, puts him straight to bed, he'll stay asleep. She could call Rick and warn him to stay inside his office so he won't get Dash all excited.

Yeah. Good excuse.

Kate pulls her phone back out and tries his cell phone first. If he's writing, he might not have it close by. Depends.

He answers immediately. "Hey, good-looking."

She chuckles. "Guess what?" she says softly.

His voice changes pitch to match hers. "What?"

"Might get an N-A-P today."

"Hm, but I'm not sleepy. Can we just have sex instead?"

Kate laughs, glances down to make sure she didn't wake Dash. "Smartass. I've worn him out. Seriously worn him out. When we get home, don't come out of the room, let me just put him right to B-E-D. Maybe he'll stay down."

"You're a miracle-worker. What did you do?"

She grins and imagines him in his study, laptop against his knees. "Let him run around like a wild animal until he smacked his head against a park bench. Out cold now. Blow to the head works every time."

He laughs. "Saw the big bruise over his eye. Park bench huh?"

"Yeah. He really is okay, didn't knock him out. He's just run himself ragged."

"I figured. How was the aquarium?"

"You know, when we first got here, I thought maybe I'd made a huge mistake. The subway was just. . .awful. He bolted for the doors at every stop, Castle. I was sure I'd lose him."

"Yeah, he loves to ride the subway. And if you let him down for one second, he's going to run. No matter where you are. I've stopped taking him anywhere on the subway."

"I thought you were just being. . ."

"Pretentious?" he says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Sorry," she says with a little laugh. But it's true. She still struggles against the fame, the money, tries to bring him back down to earth when he wants to drop a thousand dollars on a purse she happens to admire in a window. Some things. . .some things he was right to spend the money on. "I'll have to think about it before I take him again. We're on the subway now though."

"Not even the subway has woken him up?"

"Not a bit," she says, glancing down at the face still mashed into her shirt. Drool and all. "We had a good time. He loves the shark tank."

"Really?" She can hear the half-concentration in his voice, which means he's either re-reading his last scene for mistakes, or he's still writing, and doing it slowly so she won't hear the keys clack over the phone. "What else you do?"

She doesn't even care that he's distracted. "He played in the touch tanks. Handled everything. Got sand all over himself, soaked to the skin at least twice." She pauses to give her next bit of information a nice long lead. She waits until she hears a shift in his attention, her silence clueing him in. "Oh, and Dashiell got lost in the lobby by the big tank with the rays in it. I mean, *I* lost him there. I have no idea where he went. I turned around and he was gone."

"Shit, that would scare the crap out of me."

She nods, even though he can't see her face, and rubs her hand down Dashiell's back. "It scared me. I've seen too much. It. . .I found him back by the big display after about five minutes though. He probably just wandered away with a group, then came back to see the big fish. But five minutes is a long time. A long, long time. I kept seeing. . ."

"Yeah," he says softly. "I know."

"When I found him, I dragged him to the exit. I couldn't do it anymore. I just. . .I guess I lost it a little. But he started crying because he had basically just gotten there and now I was making him leave and that knocked me back to reality. Poor guy. I was being silly. I didn't want to let my own issues keep Dash from having these great experiences, right? So we went back inside."

"Wow. Issues."

"Yeah, stop judging me, Castle."

"You got it."

She huffs a laugh and presses her cheek against the top of Dashiell's head, closes her eyes a moment to release the tension the came over her from just remembering that moment. Dashiell was lost, but at the time, *she* was the one who felt the most alone, the one abandoned. Then Kate shakes it off, lifts her head and opens her eyes and cradles the phone at her ear, recovered.

"But we had a good time. And good call with Nathan's. That was fun. He loves hot dogs."

"He does. And fries. Did you let him have fries?"

"Yeah, I figure as long as he's having a hot dog, what can fries hurt?"

He laughs over the line and she presses the phone closer, wishing, suddenly and desperately, to have him with her. She's surprised by the surge of feeling, but it's just par for the course today. All her emotions running amok now that she's let them out to play.

"Good job, Mommy."

"Shut it, Castle."

He laughs again. "How far out are you?"

"ETA thirty."

"Mm, cop talk. Sexy."

"Just you wait," she says, grinning again. "With this one in bed, we can be too."

He issues a noise over the phone that she interprets as. . .strangled. . .and she smiles again, pleased. And the heavy weight of her son sleeping against her makes everything feel right, like things are in place, in control.

He finally breathes again. "Can't wait. Hurry home."

"Castle?" She wants to tease him some more, but she needs to say something else first. Needs to.

"Yeah."

"I love you."

"Right back at ya." And then, after a long silence in which he seems to be switching focus from his book back to her again. "Hey, Kate? I know you do. I've never doubted it."

That's good to hear.


	9. Chapter 9

She texts Castle a warning message when they get on the elevator; the doorman held it open for her and gave her that knowing smile when she carried the sleeping boy into the lift. She's been getting that knowing look all day, like she and the world are in on some big secret of toddler-hood. It's mystifying, and yet, she finds herself smiling back with the same knowing look.

Kate has a hand against her son's head, cupping around his ear as if that will keep him from waking up. If the subway ride, the jerk of the car, the long walk from their stop jostled by pedestrians, if all of that hasn't woken him up, she doubts a quiet elevator ride or her key in the lock will do it either.

But when she gets to their apartment door, she finds that Castle has left it unlocked for her. She slips inside, pushes the door to, but not closed to keep it from clicking loudly, and then carefully works the bag off her shoulder.

Castle comes out of the study at just that moment and lifts the bag from her, letting her use both hands to hold on to Dashiell. She's making a face at him though, trying to warn him into absolute silence, but of course he knows better than she does just how precarious Dash's sleep can be.

He takes her bag to the kitchen to unload, while she heads for the stairs and Dashiell's room. Castle has closed all the blinds to keep it dark in the apartment, and she can hear the hum of the fridge it's so quiet. She takes each step carefully because she can't see her feet, and gets to the top without so much as a sigh from her son.

Almost there. Kate walks slowly down the hall and into Dash's room, with its dark blue walls, the vintage, split-finger baseball glove on the dresser, the wooden shelves above the bookcase with their layers of baseball trophies, signed baseballs, framed rookie cards. The low bookshelf holds all the books: foam, soft, board, picture. Retro pennants on the wall by the light switch; a framed black and white blown-up photo of Yankee Stadium, (all of it Castle's idea and execution), with a huge white NY logo on the wall right above his crib.

She eyes the railing of the crib and tries to think it through. The instant she puts Dashiell down, she's expecting him to wake up. Castle has twisted the blinds closed, to keep it dark, and the soft lullaby machine plays. If she can keep the transition smooth enough, keep him from sudden changes in height or direction. . .

Castle has either lowered the railing for her already, or she left it down when she got him up this morning. She thinks she can maneuver him over it, but then leaning down into the crib to place him on the bedding might prove awkward. She's never, not once, put the kid to bed already asleep before. Not since he was a newborn anyway and sleeping beside them in the bassinet. Castle lowered the the crib mattress a few months back when Dashiell started climbing out. Now it's a long way down, too deep for her arms.

She sighs, adjusts Dashiell a little to get a better grip on him, and then lifts him off her chest. He snuggles in the air, tries to get at her in his sleep, but she keeps moving. Slowly. Her arms are shaking. He's a heavy little thing.

Castle comes into the room behind her and eases Dashiell out of her arms, lowers him down like a pro, then carefully raises the side of the crib railing until it clicks. Kate puts a hand on his waist and leans in to check on Dash, watch him root around in the bedding for warmth, for his mother, his mouth smacking.

Castle pushes the pacifier to the boy's lips as Dash seems ready to wake, but that soothes him back down again; he drops further into sleep. Kate remembers her idea from this morning and takes the thick Yankees blanket from the rocker to drape over the top of the crib. She leaves half of the crib open, the furthest from the window, just to keep air circulating, just in case, and tucks the edges in around the bedding so that it won't drop down on him.

Castle raises an eyebrow at her, but very purposefully says nothing. When she's got it like she wants it, she tugs Castle back out of the room and shuts the door after them, her hand splayed over his forearm, her thumb on the hairs at the crook of his elbow.

Quietly, Castle leans in and kisses her, mouth soft, fingers soft against her elbow as well, warm. She releases his arm to curl into him, her hands at his sides, presses her mouth against his jaw.

"Making him a little tent?" he whispers.

"He likes hiding under the coffee table. He loved the underground tanks, where it's dark and there's just the water. I thought that might help him sleep."

"That, and wearing the kid out," Castle says.

"Mm, that too," she whispers. "How's the novel?" Steps back.

"Getting there." Castle pulls her down the hall to the stairs where they can talk. "A lot better now, thanks to you." He squeezes her hand for her attention. "Seriously, Kate. I. . .thank you."

She grips his hand as they go down the stairs, halts him at the bottom so she's one step up, taller than him now. "I. . .Captain called. He wants me back at work."

"Oh." His face falls, shutters. "I can-"

"No," she says softly, leans in to put her hands on his shoulders. "I called Esposito instead, made him lead detective on this case, and took the rest of the week off."

"You did? You can do that?" He's got her by the hips, rubbing circles in her sides so distractingly.

"Technically, I can't do that, no. But I did it anyway."

He smiles and pulls her waist towards him; she has to arch back to still see his face. Which might have been his intention as their chests meet.

"If I work all night, I can get enough done so that tomorrow, we can-"

"No, Castle." She smirks at him. "Tonight you are all mine. I'll handle Dashiell again tomorrow. Alone. And you will work. Alone."

He frowns at her, then smiles with a naughty look on his face. "I'm all yours any time, Detective."

"Well, let's start with tonight," she says, and pushes on his shoulders to get him moving. "But first, I'm starving. I had a hot dog for lunch, Castle."

"Yeah I saw that. Pretty funny."

"I can't believe I gave in. He insisted. And instead of fighting, I just went with it."

"The things you do for your kids," he says, walking ahead of her into the kitchen. "Want some fruit? I got strawberries at the fresh market a few days ago."

"Yeah. Any of that fruit dip?"

"Fruit dip's not healthy for you," he says, then yelps as she smacks him. "Okay, okay. Fruit dip it is. Also have chocolate syrup in here if you want to have dirty, food sex."

Kate laughs in his face, a little shocked by the ways he can still surprise her. "No. Thank you for that kind offer though. I've had enough grimy hands on me for one day."

"Darn," Castle says and opens the fridge. "You're really missing out though. Chocolate syrup. . ." He waggles the bottle in front of her and squeezes some out onto his finger, sucks it off.

She stares at him for a second too long; he's at her mouth before she can move, taking, hungry, the chocolate syrup slipping from his fingers to the floor. She feels splatter from the open bottle against the back of her calf but ignores it, tasting chocolate in his mouth.

Her stomach growls. She pushes back, away. "Seriously. Food. And then sex. I promise."

"My kind of woman," he says, and let's her go, reopens the fridge to get her the fruit. He picks up the bottle of chocolate from the floor, wagging his eyebrows at her in a little dance. "Strawberries and. . .?"

"Maybe a turkey sandwich too," she says, leaning past him for the deli meat, still licking chocolate from her lips. "And chocolate milk, now that you've brought it up."

"I dropped it," he says with a pout.

She steps out of the way of his skin-questing hands, moving to make herself a sandwich. She runs her tongue along her bottom lip, still tasting chocolate, and Castle groans.

"You gotta stop doing that, seriously. Eat your sandwich, you tease. Then tell me how it went today."

Kate laughs again, delighted in a way she hasn't been. . .for awhile. Wow. Strange to realize how much they both needed this. He needed some kid-free time and she needed what? Time off work. Time with just her son. Maybe both. "Dashiell had a great time. Me, I survived."

"How'd he like the aquarium? We haven't been there yet. I used to take Alexis a lot though."

"I was afraid it'd be too old for him, but he was into it. He was engaged from one end to another. Stuff to touch, stuff to look at, stuff to watch, stuff to handle." She spreads deli turkey on a slice of bread and smiles. "He goes full tilt at everything. Doesn't stop. The more tired he gets, the more energy he seems to have. Until he crashes."

"I saw you guys were at the Sea Cliffs. That walrus still there?"

"I don't know. We didn't stop long. Just to sit and have a snack before Dash melted down. That's when he was babbling about the hot dogs and I couldn't understand him. I wonder how he knew that those hot dogs were near by?"

"Alexis and I were talking about the aquarium being so close, back when the three of us got lunch there. Maybe he remembered. Anyway, I'm glad you had such a good time with him."

She shrugs and mashes her sandwich together. "It was. . .interesting. And it's definitely given me a new perspective."

"Oh?"

Kate glances up from her sandwich, sees that Castle has made himself a peanut butter and jelly while she's been talking. He's pulling cheetos out of the bag too. Of course. She's got two Castle kids, doesn't she? She can kind of see why Martha might have chosen the stage instead of full-time motherhood for so long. . .

"We should talk," she says.

Castle stills, his face blank, and then slowly puts the cheetos down. "We should?"

"I know we've both said, at one time or another, we didn't like growing up as only children."

"Hey, Kate," he shakes his head at her. "We don't need to have this conversation now. It's not necessary."

"No, I think it is." She leans a hip against the counter and frowns down at her sandwich. "Before I forget how difficult this day was-not just managing Dash, but managing the case, your writing schedule, us. This has really shown me that I'm not ready, Castle. I can't. . .I can't do it again. Not now. Maybe not ever."

She swallows, her throat tight, and watches his face for a sign. Any sign. He nods once, won't look at her. She'll give him a second to process this, absorb it. She's had all day to think about it. She breathes in the silence, her fingers on her sandwich, fiddling. She's not a fiddler; she doesn't get nervous like this.

"That's a maybe. . .for the not ever part?" he says softly, finally lifting his eyes to hers. "Only maybe not ever?"

She chews on her bottom lip. "I can't see it changing any time soon, but. . .but it's a maybe." She waits for him to say something, but he's silent again, staring somewhere past her. "Talk to me, Castle."

"Dash's birth. . .does that have anything to do with it? Because Kate, I don't know that I can watch you like that again. You almost died." He rubs a hand down his face. "And the blood. . .I don't know that I *want* you to do it again."

She nods, silent for a moment. "That doesn't. . .I was mostly unconscious for that, Rick. So my fear isn't that exactly. I mean, I'm a cop. I go out there every day with that kind of thing hanging over me."

"I know; I know it's risky. But it's different, you being a cop. But this was like. . .like something I *did* to you. And it nearly killed you." He won't look at her.

"We did that together, Castle," she says, rolling her eyes. She rubs her fingers along the edge of the counter. "But why didn't you say all this before? When we talked about it?"

Rick sighs and sits on the bar stool, elbows on the counter. "Because. . .because I've got all I need. I want you to. . .I want you to have all you need as well. I know we talked about kids before, sorta glanced off the subject once or twice. But when you got pregnant, you just looked so scared that bringing it up seemed stupid."

"I *was* scared," she says, scowling at him.

"I didn't want to ask, not then. But I figured once you got used to it, once you saw that it worked, you'd want another one. A little girl maybe," he says softly, watching her face.

A daughter. Well. She hasn't exactly thought about it. At least, not so specifically. She was thinking more about having two Dashes to contend with.

"I have a daughter. And now I have a son," Rick says. "I want you to have. . .everything, Kate."

She steps around the counter and slides her hands on his shoulder, hooking her fingers together behind his neck. "That's very sweet." She presses a kiss to his cheek, rests there a moment. "But Rick, Dash hasn't changed my mind about how easy it is."

"No," he laughs and shakes his head. "Forgive me for that thought. See, before Dashiell, my whole experience was one really, really, easy baby."

"Yeah," she laughs back. "Good point. So are we. . .okay with this?"

He nods, brushes his thumb along her hipbone. "We're okay."

She smiles and takes the bag of cheetos away from him, pours some out onto her plate. Then it occurs to her what he's said, and what he might not have said. "Do you want. . .do you want a little girl?" she asks, looking up at him quickly.

He hesitates just a fraction of a second too long.

"You do?" She doesn't know why she's surprised, but she is.

"I. . .I don't know. I'd like. . .I think it's more that I'd like to see you with a little girl, see you get to be a mother to a daughter. Does that make sense?"

She rolls a cheeto across her plate and thinks about that. "I guess. But why?"

He looks distinctly uncomfortable. "I don't know."

"Castle."

His jaw works, shoulders hunched under her gaze. "Because. . .because your mom is gone. And I. . .I guess I want you to have that back. Somehow."

She lets out shaky breath and presses her palms against the cool granite countertop. "I don't know that I could do that."

"What do you mean? Do what?"

"With Dashiell, as it is, I already think about her too much," she says, shrugging and twisting her mouth to keep tears from collecting in her eyes. "Having a little girl. Wouldn't that be worse?"

"Sad stuff?" he asks, standing up to stalk around the counter.

"Yes. No. Some."

"Any good stuff?"

She shrugs again, less able to communicate than a few minutes ago.

"What good stuff?" he says, bringing his hands up to clasp her arms, not crowding her, but not letting her escape. She's noticed he's adopted this tactic often when confronting her, as if he's figured her out. He *has* figured her out. He's learned his own interrogation techniques.

"The way I tell him no," she laughs, but it twists out of her mouth, sounds brittle. "The songs I sing to him to get him to settle down. I say something to Dash, I do something, and I realize it's the exact same thing my mom used to do. And I sound like her. I mean, I knew we were a lot alike. I was close enough to being an adult to realize that I was getting to be exactly like my own mother. I hope we're alike in being mothers as well."

"Your mom was pretty special. And you're a wonderful mom, Kate. You're a natural."

She laughs, no mirth in it. "No, I'm not. None of this feels natural. But it was the same for my mom. I. . .I asked my dad a few months after Dash was born, because it was so hard. Hard to adjust, hard to figure him out, hard to miss sleep and wake up in the middle of the night and- -and Dad said my mom was the same. And that helped."

Castle rubs her arms. "Don't sell yourself short. Just because it's hard, doesn't mean you're not a great mom. Because you are a great mom. I know my examples aren't so hot, my own mother, Alexis's mother," he winces, "but I can tell. Dash can tell. Kate, love, you are wonderful."

She doesn't want to cry. Not now. Not because of this.

"Holy crap, Kate. You took Dashiell out all stinking day long, with nothing more than a bump on the head, and you still sound sane. You're still walking. That's amazing. You figured out that I was crazy-behind schedule, and you did something about it. You listen to Alexis, you listen to what she isn't saying, and you did that even before I figured it out, and I've been her dad longer than you've been in her life. You think that doesn't mean something?"

She shakes his hands lose to step in close to him, pressing her face against his shoulder, breathing in the sat-all-day-and-wrote-smell of him, her arms circling his waist. Maybe, instead of needing one-on-one time with Dash, maybe she just needed to know that she was good enough. Good enough for Dash. Good enough for Rick. Alexis. All of them. Good enough for their perfect 3-person family, good enough to come inside.

He's stroking her neck with the tips of his fingers, silky, sensual. "Hey, don't you dare cry. We still have to get to that chocolate syrup sex."

She laughs through the tears collecting, wipes them free with the back of her hand. "No syrup."

"Mm, just sex then?"

"After I eat."

He sighs dramatically, squeezes her a little tighter. "After you eat then. I suppose I can wait."


	10. Chapter 10

He falls asleep right beside her, instantly unconscious. He has a dream.

Rick is sitting beside her hospital bed; they are talking. She looks pale; she can't lift her head. She's smiling at him though, one of those delirious smiles he's seen after a long night at a murder board results in an arrest. He's holding their son, newborn and scrawny, his head so tiny, forehead mashed in, eyes still closed. She tried earlier, but couldn't, still weak (she doesn't understand why, grumbles about it); the baby is taking a bottle like a champ though, sucking at it with energy. Kate is trying to tell him something about it, but Castle only has eyes for his son. His son.

He remembers this. It's not a dream, but a memory. He's been here; he knows what happens next. He's not holding his son, but watching himself hold his son, telling himself _Look up, look up at her, pay attention_. But the memory Castle is stroking his son's cheek, rubbing the little hands, not listening. Not noticing.

In the dream, Castle watches Kate. Can't take his eyes off of Kate. First her words slur; she frowns as she realizes she's not saying what she wants to say, and then the frown becomes bewildered panic, becomes fear; her hand fumbles at the railing for him, to catch his attention. She's sluggish, her movements lack grace; she breaks his heart.

Castle steps forward, tries to reach her, but there is a wall of memory between his now self and his past self. He runs against it, unable to move, to shout, as Kate's face goes from pale to suddenly very white, bloodless, and her eyes roll back. He sees, he sees it; the bloom of blood below her waist, drenching her legs, the sheets, so quickly exiting her body, and he strains with everything in him to get his own attention, to get help, _help her_-

His memory self catches on to the strange, wrong silence; his head comes up, still with that awed and pleased smile, and turns toward her to say-

What was he about to say? He can't remember now.

But instead, Castle jumps to his feet, the baby jostled and crying now, sensing the panic in his father, and Castle is one with himself now, reliving it, terrible and deadly, watching with his own eyes as the blood drenches the bed, drips to the floor; it is his raw and bellowing voice screaming for the nurse; they are his arms dumping the baby in the isolette beside the bed, heedless; they are his hands fumbling to lower the head of the bed, cradling her by the neck.

He yells again, again, again until someone is at his side and jerking the bedding off, swiftly spreading her legs, checking, and all he can do is watch her, the flutter of her closed eyes as she goes in and out of consciousness, his hand clutching hers to his chest, stroking her cheek, pleading with her _Katie, Katie, please._

He startles awake, his throat raw, limbs frozen, his whole body shaking and sweaty, the fear pounding behind his eyes. Kate's cautious hand on his bicep, half-raised up in their bed and leaning away from him in the twilight of the room, wariness rolling off her in waves.

He turns them over and crushes her, tight, too tight, laying practically on top of her, breathing her in, still shaky.

"What was that?" she whispers.

"Nothing. Nothing. Bad dream."

She reaches out a tentative hand to his shoulder, snakes it around to the nape of his neck, trails her fingers up and down the way he likes, needs. He eases off of her a little, but can't bear to not hear her heart beating, lays his head on her chest, closing his eyes, rethinking that and keeping them open, breathing shakily in and out in time with her own breaths.

"Bad dream." She doesn't question him, but there's a question inherent in her tone. A challenge.

"A very bad dream."

"Is it okay now?"

"It will be," he says, can't help being honest when it's like this. His whole body gutted and splayed out before him.

"Do you have this dream a lot?"

"No. A few times since-just a couple times. Ever."

She rubs his back slowly with her palm; it goes against her nature and he knows it, and he appreciates it all the more for its reluctance and capitulation. She's doing it because she loves him, and wants to comfort him, and she's here to do it, and that's a great blessing, a huge blessing, and he can't even begin to imagine what would've happened to him, to Dashiell, if she had died that day in the hospital.

Something as small as a piece of the placenta, undelivered after the baby's birth, sucking down her blood, drawing it out of her body, more and more and more until it came out in a wave, pouring out of her, draining her. The doctor who delivered Dashiell explained that when they deliver the afterbirth, they check it to make sure they've gotten everything, and they had checked it, they had checked it he assured Castle, but-

"Hey, you're shaking again," she says.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Can't seem to get out of my own head."

She presses her mouth to his forehead, lips closed, a motherly kiss. "It's only six o'clock. Let's get up, take a shower, do some normal stuff. Get you out of your head."

He nods, but doesn't get up, won't let go of her just yet. He can't. He just can't.

"No more kids," he says finally, in the silence, hers waiting and inquisitive, his waiting and dreadful.

"What?"

"No more kids, Kate. We're done. Forget everything I said."

She's stiffened under him, but after a moment of her gradually building fury, she subsides, sighs softly. "You had a dream about the retained placenta."

She says it with such clinical detachment. He grunts his assent. "You say that like it's no big deal."

Kate sighs, pats his shoulder. "I was unconscious for that, Castle. I don't remember it. All I know is the look on your face when I woke up later." She sighs again. "That was bad enough, Rick."

He nods into her shoulder, the shift in her tone and attitude inherent in calling him by his first name, as if she understands and forgives him for this: for having both arms around her too tightly, bigger than her by a good measure, strangely enough. She's always so tall in his mind. So present. Laying against her in bed, she's sleight, and fragile, and-

"Okay, enough wallowing, Castle. Get up," she slaps at his shoulder and gets a knee under him to pry him off of her.

He retreats reluctantly, sighing loudly, pushed into a place where he knows his role: long-suffering, pouty Rick Castle being put off by his muse. It actually helps. Reverting to type, he gives her a puppy-dog look, so cliche, so trite, and she rolls her eyes but gets out of bed and pulls him out after her.

She pats his cheek once he's standing, her eyes not yet teasing despite her treatment of him, echoes of his nightmare in their depths. So it *does* affect her as well; it gets to her, the fact that it gets to him. He sobers quickly.

"You're fine," she says, as if dismissing him, but then leans in to press a gentle, devastating kiss on his mouth.

"I'll be fine. Little more of that," he murmurs.

She laughs, true laughter, and the darkness dissipates. It is only twilight in their bedroom, Kate wearing just a tshirt, and their son asleep upstairs. Only twilight; he's got lots more time.


	11. Chapter 11

Kate watches the clock out of the corner of her eye. Almost 6:30 and Dashiell is still asleep upstairs. A four hour nap from a kid that rarely takes naps and gets about four or five hours of sleep a night.

"Is he sick?" she says finally, lifting up from Castle's shoulder and twisting her head to look at the digital display on the oven, just to be sure. When she turns back around, he's smirking at her.

"Worried?"

"Yes." She thumps his chest and gets up from the couch. He's still a little clingy, which annoys the hell out of her most days, but she lets him today because some part of her feels the need for it too. She's not sure why. Maybe it *is* some kind of maternal instinct finally asserting itself, woken up by her day with Dash and stoked by Castle's obvious need.

He dreams sometimes. Before. . .back then, she never saw it, wasn't here, of course, to see how the work affected him. He's just so happy-go-lucky most times that she forgets he bleeds too. His bad dreams usually center around the Triple X Killer, being tied to the chair and being the cause of someone else's death, not catching on fast enough, his ego trumping his good sense. . .that kind of thing. This is the first time he's admitted to dreaming about the time after she gave birth to Dash. She does wonder if it's more often that he lets on.

She goes to the bottom of the stairs and listens. Still nothing. "I'm just going to check."

"Sure," he says distractedly. He's typing away again. All she's been doing since they woke up was lean against him on the couch and surf through one news story after another on tv. She needs a break from the crime report. Needs a break from the irregular click of keys as he types, pauses, retypes, deletes, thinks, types. Also, he has this maddening habit of stroking her skin whenever he's thinking, which, yes, is pleasant at first, but then gets arousing as hell and he doesn't do anything about it. Just goes back to writing.

At the top of the stairs, she hears the lullaby mobile and picks up her pace a little. When she opens Dashiell's door, the muted blues from the mobile cast deeper shadows in the crib, across the room. Even in the dark, she sees the little head move.

"Mommy."

She's rooted to the spot in dumb surprise for half a second, then smiles and starts forward, slowly, in the dark. Trying to avoid the tonka trunk somewhere in the floor that she stepped on earlier. Her big toe smacks the edge of the crib; she winces and hops to her other foot, leans over the crib, her chin on the railing.

"Hey there, baby."

He's sitting up in the darkest part of the crib, where the blanket tents over him. She sees the ghostly blue-tinted hand reach for her and she offers her hand to him, strokes the top of his head with her fingers. He leans into her like a cat.

"How long have you been awake, baby?"

Of course, he has no answer. He looks sleepy but not sluggish, at rest but not drugged. He's been awake for awhile then. It usually takes him an hour or so to bring himself out of it, a cranky, miserable hour of whining and fits before hes's truly awake. But not today. Not right now. Apparently, he woke up all on his own and sat in his crib watching his mobile. He pops his pacifier back in his mouth and holds up both hands to her.

She puts down the railing and leans over to pick him up. Dash comes up with her and snuggles into her neck, digging his arms between his body and hers so that he's being squeezed nice and tight. She hugs him hard, listens to the satisfied smack of his lips around his pacifier, juggles him a little to get a better grip.

When she comes back out into the hallway, Dash winces and buries his face in her chest.

"Castle!" she hisses. After a long moment, she hears him on the steps, bounding up.

He looks concerned when his head comes into view, but he sees her with Dashiell and clears the last three steps in one leap, racing to her side. "What?"

"Sorry, no. Just-would you turn out all the lights downstairs?"

"He okay?"

"Yeah. Awake. Turn the lights out before we get down there. I'll change him, clean him up a little."

Castle gives her a searching look, but goes back towards the stairs. "All right."

She turns back into Dashiell's room; he pops his head up the instant they are back in the dim room. Now that her eyes have adjusted, she realizes it's not really dark in here, just not bright. She dumps Dash on the changing table, puts her hand on his belly to keep him there as she reaches for a clean diaper and a change of clean pajamas. He hasn't had a bath yet, cheetos and ketchup stain his clothes, but she'll get to that later.

She pulls the pacifier from his mouth and tosses it into the crib. Then she changes him quickly, making faces at him to keep him entertained and away from the blinds, which he wants to crunch in his fist. She stands him up to yank his bottoms up over the new diaper, then uses a baby wipe to get at the creases of dirt in his neck. He writhes away from her, but it does lack the usual angry energy she's come to expect from him.

When she brings Dashiell downstairs, he sees his father on the couch and struggles to be let down. Kate bends down and lets him have at it, managing to get in a warning to Rick, who is back at his laptop with furious concentration. "Incoming."

Rick looks up the instant Dash launches at him, fumbles the laptop, catches the kid, sticks out his leg to break the laptop's fall and it slides down his jeans to the floor. Kate rescues the computer as Rick wrestles with his son. "Sorry. Hope you saved that?"

"Mostly," he breathes, huffing as Dash jumps on his chest.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy."

"He was awake when I went in."

"Are you kidding?"

"I know, right?" She put the laptop on the coffee table, keeping it out of the way. "So not like him."

"What were you doing in there?" he asks Dash, tickling the kid.

"Daddeeee," he squeals and butts his head against his father's chest.

"He was just playing with the mobile. Under the little cave I made with the blanket."

"Huh. He took an actual nap. I mean, that's pretty huge." He wrestles Dash onto his back and gives his belly a loud, smacking strawberry. Dashiell screams with his giggles and grabs his father's ears. Kate sits at the other end of the couch and watches them for a minute, smiling.

"A nap is a good thing," she says finally.

Rick looks up at her. "We'll keep the tent. Is that why you wanted the lights off down here?"

She shrugs and eyes her son. "He acted like the light hurt his eyes."

"Yeah. Well, it hurts mine too when I first wake up. I mean. . ."

She shakes her head. "I just wonder if he's sensitive to the light. More so than normal."

He doesn't look convinced, but that doesn't bother her. This is how they work things out; they come up with theory, they knock it around a bit, he points out the flaws in hers; she points out the holes in his. But she thinks she's right about this.

"Did you call his pediatrician today?" She's expecting a no.

"I did, actually." He grins at her with a smirk of triumph. "He's got an appointment for three weeks from today. 7 in the morning. And Dr. DeLameran actually talked to me about the sleep stuff for a good twenty minutes."

She gives him a glare (an old point of contention, this: DeLameran treats her like an idiotic mom, and treats Castle like the best thing since sliced bread, regardless of the fact that Castle is the one more likely to panic and overreact).

"Yup, twenty minutes," he crows. Beside him, Dashiell mimics him, crowing as well, "Min-wee mins!"

She cracks up at that and moves around the couch to give Dash a kiss on his sweet, delighted face. "What a little parrot."

"Paw-paw," he giggles back and reaches both hands into her hair, tugging her back down. She braces herself on the couch with her elbows and untangles her hair from his sweaty fingers.

Castle leans over to help, releasing one hand while she gets the other one.

When she's upright again, she pokes Dash and makes a face at him. "So, three weeks. What did Dr. DeLameran say about the sleep study?"

"She said that most babies don't really qualify for true sleep studies."

"Oh."

"I told her what's been going on. She said all of it sounds fairly normal, although not usually found in one kid. Colic, bad sleep schedule, overstimulated, all kinds of things get a kid out of whack."

"This seems more than out of whack," she says, letting Dash crawl off the couch but keeping an eye on him. "This isn't like, oh every couple nights or so he's waking up in the middle of the night. This is every night. I get home and the kid is still screaming his head off. We get woken up at two in the morning, at four, by him crying. I'm starting to wonder if he doesn't get night terrors or something."

"Have you noticed that he doesn't do that when you're here in time to give him his bath? When you're here."

She cuts her eyes to him, trying to read *that* loaded statement. "I hadn't noticed that."

"Don't look at me like that," he says with a growl and scoops up his laptop again, resettles on the couch. "I'm not making commentary here. I'm saying, the past three times you've gotten home earlier than usual, you were the one to put him to bed. Either you're just better at it than me, or it's a coincidence."

She ducks her head. "I think coincidence. Or maybe just the novelty of having me home before bedtime. Wait, no, you're wrong. Just yesterday. He pitched a huge fit."

"That's the easiest time I've had with him since. . .since I don't know when, Kate."

"That's not good. Rick, that is seriously not good. There's *no way* it's supposed to be like that."

He shrugs and opens the laptop. "I don't know. After I talked with DeLameran, it just. . .she made it sound like I'm overreacting."

"You mean me. You mean it made me sound like *I'm* overreacting."

"No," he pronounces slowly. "I mean me. I mean, after I talked with her, I could see what she meant. She suggested we try something tonight, though with that power nap he just had. . .might not work anyway." He starts reading, typing out a few corrections.

"What did she suggest?"

"Give him a countdown." Rick starts tapping away on the keys.

Kate moves in and pushes on the screen, folding it down a little. "Eyes up here, Rick."

His hands still; he draws his eyes up to look at her with something like astonishment. . .and arousal? She snorts at him and puts her hands on her hips.

"Explain. You can start writing in a second."

He keeps his fingers on the keyboard, but he must hear in her voice that this is a dealbreaker because he doesn't try to argue with her about it. "A countdown for bedtime. Start with fifteen minutes and announce each five minute increment until he's only got five minutes left. Then four minutes, three, two, one, then thirty seconds. And so on. She said that he might just have trouble making transitions, that lots of kids feel kind of out of control. This gives him some measure of structure and control when you let him know ahead of time what's expected of him."

"That sounds crazy." She uncrosses her arms and glances around for Dashiell. It's way too quiet. She forgot to pay attention when she got pissed at Castle for. . .for no reason really. "That sounds like pop psychology." She scans the far side of the room; no signs of him.

"All we can do is try."

"Where's Dash?" she says, starts heading for the kitchen. Remembering the knives. He's not technically able to get to them, but she just doesn't trust that the kid won't figure it out.

"Oh crap, the stairs," Rick says, dropping the laptop back on the couch and heading for the staircase by the front door.

She switches directions and follows him. "I forgot," Kate confesses, slapping her forehead.

"No, it's my fault. They delivered the new baby gate yesterday, but I put it in the hall closet instead of installing it right away."

"I still should've put in the old one. It's still leaning against the stairs."

They stop at the foot of the stairs, but Dash is nowhere in sight. "Think he made it all the way up?" Castle whispers, like they're hunting a suspect.

"Yes," she says and starts up, taking the steps two at a time with Castle right behind her. She takes point, like always, and they sweep the rooms.

They find him in the bathroom.

"Hey, Momma!" he says brightly.

Dashiell is sitting in the bathroom sink, little knees pointed up, a bottle of tylenol in one hand and a disposable razor in the other. The blade glints in the overhead lights.

"Hey, baby," she chokes out and reaches for the razor slowly, carefully, plucking it out of his hand before he knows what's happening.

"Mine!" he screeches, lunging for it. Castle catches him before he can topple out of the sink, rights him again, but leaves him in the bowl.

Kate chews on her bottom lip and shares a grin with Castle. "Stay right here; let me get my phone."

"Get mine too!" he yells after her.

She takes the stairs two at a time, runs back into their bedroom for her phone, finds his after a few seconds' searching, brings them both back to the upstairs bathroom, a little breathless. They both snap a few pictures of Dashiell grinning at them from the sink bowl, the bottle of tylenol in hand, looking at them like it's no big deal. Kate still has the razor in one hand, unsure where to put it, thinking maybe she shouldn't let Dashiell see where she puts it either. And how did he even get up there, get the medicine cabinet open?

"Toilet, probably," Castle says, before she can even ask. "Then up onto the counter."

"There's a gap between the toilet and the counter over a foot wide!" She maneuvers past him to look at it critically. "He'd be leaning out into nothing, stretched practically full length."

"Yup," Castle's still grinning. "He's a little monkey."

"Mo-hee, mo-hee," Dashiell agrees, waving the bottle of tylenol.

Kate takes that from him as well but he doesn't seem to care quite as much. "Okay then, mo-hee, time for a bath."

"No mo-hee," Dashiell complains. She's not sure if it's because of the animal name or because of the bath. "Momma, no."

"Yep, sorry, kiddo." She uses the moment to shove both the razor and tylenol into a drawer while he's got his face screwed up for a fit, scooping him out of the sink and into her arms.

Castle is already leaning over to the bathtub, twisting the faucet on. He straightens, casts a look at the door, and she lets him off the hook. "Go write. I got this."

He startles, blushes even, and shakes his head. "No. I should-"

"No, Castle. Go write. You're worthless to me like this." But she smiles at him gently, puts her hand at the center of his chest to tap his collarbone. He leans in and she graces him with a kiss on his cheek. "Go write."

Dashiell arches backward to get down and she withdraws her hand to catch him. Castle watches her a moment from the doorway, then shakes his head. "You get it started; I'll wash his hair. Ok?"

She lets Dashiell down but blocks his escape by planting herself in the doorway in front of Castle, arms spread to grip the doorframe. "Deal."

He leans over her shoulder and places a soft kiss to the side of her jaw, rests his chin on her shoulder for a second. She lifts a hand from the frame to run her fingers through his hair, turning her head to kiss his cheek again. He smells good, like home.

"You're a good daddy," she says softly, then drops a little, knees together, to keep Dash from running between her legs and back out into the hallway.

He laughs. "And you're a fast mommy. Good thing. Gotta be fast to keep up with the mad Dash."


	12. Chapter 12

He can hear them laughing upstairs, mostly a lot of shrieking laughter from Dashiell and the throaty, sexy kind from Kate. It makes him want to run upstairs and take her over his shoulder, but that would be a bad idea. He has to repeat it over and over to keep his itching feet from hitting the floor: that would be a bad idea.

He started this day with only an outline done on chapter five of his novel, but he's finishing chapter thirteen as bathtime goes on upstairs. He figures he has about ten minutes more before she's going to need him up there to wash the kid's hair: it's easily a two person job, which he ends up doing alone, yes, while she's out on a case or rounding up a suspect.

He doesn't mind it. He really doesn't. Sometimes, he would really like to be out there with her, and yes, he admits that Dashiell is often a crazy bundle of insane energy, but the kid is also hilarious, and fun, sometimes even sweet, and just. . ._yeah, okay, stop thinking about how much you love your son and keep writing, Castle_.

Rick taps out a quick summary for the next chapter, finishes out the thirteenth with a cliffhanger about the serial killer coming back to find Rook (who thinks he's rescuing Nikki, but Nikki has long since rescued herself, of course). He checks his email for chapter changes from the Black Pawn editor, but there's nothing so far, so he saves everything and puts his laptop to sleep.

Time for bath. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and messes with the old babygate again, trying to get it to fit properly between the railings. And it never will, of course, which is why he ordered the new one. He gives it up, steps over the gate, and bounds up the stairs. It's getting close to seven thirty, but maybe they'll keep Dash up for a little while, since he took such a long nap. He walks down the hallway and hears the slip of wet skin against the tub, a splash, and another shrieking laugh.

When he opens the door, Kate is standing in the tub with her sweatpants rolled up above the knees. Her tshirt is soaked through and plastered to her curves, she's bent low to keep Dashiell from slipping further into the water, and there are bubbles in her hair. Rick laughs and stands in the doorway, peering straight down the v-neck of her shirt.

"Keep your eyes up, Castle," she snarls, giving him a glare and blowing the hair out of her eyes. "Get me a rubber band out of the drawer, will ya? I think Alexis has some up here still."

Castle lazily unfolds himself from the doorway, heading to the sink, pulling open a drawer at random, then another, until he finds a hairband. He holds it up. "Want me to do it for you?"

"Hand it over," she says, holding Dashiell up with one hand under the boy's armpit, and reaching for the rubber band with her free hand. "Quick."

Rick gives it to her, taking another long look down her shirt as she's half-standing, half-bent over in the tub. Even leaning over like this, the shirt is stuck to her, revealing the dark shadow of her belly button, the smooth, long line of her torso. He takes his time watching her, kneels next to the tub and reaches out to catch Dashiell while Kate puts her hair up in a messy bun. The soap bubbles disappear. She smooths wisps of hair away from her face, wet, and steps out of the tub.

"You know we have a baby ring in the closet," he says, giving her a smirk.

She stills, swiveling just her head to look at Rick with narrowed eyes. "We do."

"Yes. I take it out of the tub when Alexis is here, but we do have one. You didn't know that?"

"But he can sit up on his own."

"Well, yeah. But they make them for older kids, so that you don't have to hunch over rescuing them all bath long. I mean, Dashiell is a squirmy little guy, and slippery when he's wet. If I didn't have that bath ring, he'd dunk his face fifteen or twenty times. It's just easier."

"Well thanks for telling me, Castle." She punches him in the shoulder. "Any other tricks I should know about?"

"Naw, I'm not telling you all my secrets. Gotta keep me around for something," he starts, about to really lay it on thick when Dashiell chooses that moment to slap the water extra hard, causing a wave of spray to wash over his arms, soaking Castle's shirt, getting soapy bubbles in his eyes, dripping down his hair.

Kate bursts into laughter as he squints through water. After a second, she's got a washcloth in hand and is wiping the bubbles and water out of his eyes.

"Thanks."

She's still giggling. "I got your back, Castle."

"So nice of you to laugh about it too," he grumbles.

"Karma, baby," she says, sitting down on the lid of the toilet to run her fingers through his hair, pushing the wet strands out of his eyes. "You look like Dash."

"Me, me, me!" Dashiell chants, slapping at the water again.

"Easy, little man," he says, raising an eyebrow and giving the boy his own glare. "No more splashing."

Her dark grey sweatpants are stained darker in places by the water; one of her feet snakes up and rests in his lap as he sits by the tub, stilling holding on to Dashiell. Her foot rubs against his thigh, her ankle some kind of perfect construction of bone and muscle; he grips Dashiell tighter, accidentally dumps the cup of water all over Dash's face instead of on his hair. Dashiell sputters and laughs.

"What are you trying to do to me, woman?"

She grins widely, leans in to kiss him at that angle, her tongue touching the corner of his mouth, her foot drawing dangerous designs in his lap.

He shivers, a combination of being soaked and being the focus of her attention, then adjusts his hold on Dash. "I gotta wash his hair. Go. . .go do something."

Kate rubs his thigh one last time, then leans over to ruffle his wet hair. "Okay, I'll stop being mean. Want some pasta for dinner? I can heat that up."

He makes a silly face at Dash, talking to the boy where she can hear him. "Pasta that Daddy made last week. Right? Uh-huh, because Mommy never cooks."

He gets a smack for that too, and then she's draping herself over his back, her hair tumbling down his wet chest, her lips ruthless and hot against his neck, his ear, her tongue-

When he gasps, arches up to his knees, she laughs in his ear and withdraws, her revenge complete.

His heart pounding, face flush, sweating a little, Castle drops back to sit on his feet again, resting his forehead against his arm on top of the tub as he tries to calm down.

"Daddy hurt," Dashiell says, patting his cheek.

"You got it, kiddo." He breathes in a shaky breath, lifts his head. "But it's Daddy's own fault."


	13. Chapter 13

Kate comes back into the living room to find Dashiell curled up against his father's side on the couch, his wet hair leaving a dark imprint on Castle's tshirt. Dash is running a train slowly down Castle's thigh to his knee while his father types awkwardly on the laptop at his other side. Kate left for only a few minutes to get the pasta out of the microwave and dish it up, but in that time, Dash has moved from the floor to his current position, sedate and looking like someone else's kid entirely.

"Hey there, little man," she murmurs, coming around the couch. "You got Mommy's spot."

He makes puttering noises for his train and looks up at her with a pout. "No bed."

"Did I say bed?" She checks the time on the oven and figures she can give Dashiell maybe another two hours before they try to wrestle him back into his crib. The nap will have completely screwed him up for tonight, but she's off work now. No case. She can handle a sleepless night or two this week. (Or five. This could be a permanent problem.)

"No bed," he repeats and sits up to run his train down the back of the couch.

"Not yet anyway," Castle murmurs from his spot, still typing, but now with both hands free and his body angled away from them.

At that moment, Kate hears the key in the lock of the front door and Dash's head pops up from the couch to peer over Kate's shoulder at the front door.

Alexis comes through with a duffle bag which she drops on the floor, her keys clang in the metal dish on the entry table. Jeans, a hoodie, and flipflops. Ever since going to college, Alexis's wardrobe has gone to super casual. Her hair in a ponytail, a little more makeup around the eyes, but less of everything else. She looks grown-up, Kate thinks, and smiles at the young woman.

Alexis is grinning back. "Hey family. Wow, Dashiell, you're still up!"

"Iss-sis!" Dashiell crows and bounces on the couch with both hands in the air. They think he's trying to say Alexis's name, not that he's calling her sister; it makes Alexis beam from ear to ear. Dash's enthusiasm for the sister he sees so infrequently is quite cute.

"Hey Alexis," Kate says, leaning one hip against the ouch as the young woman walks into the living room. "What brings you to the city?"

"I thought I'd drive in tonight rather than wait for tomorrow."

"Oh no, didn't you get my text?" Kate says, reaching into her pocket for her phone.

"I got it, but I figured. . .if you guys don't mind, I'd still like to hang out with you and Dash for the day. While Dad writes I mean. I already told everyone I'd be here, and I miss you guys."

Kate smiles at her and reaches out to give her a welcoming hug. "That would be great, actually. I'd love for you to come with us tomorrow."

Dash is wriggling up onto the back of the couch with his train in one hand, still babbling about Iss-sis, and he butts his head between the two of them to get his share of the hugs. Alexis scoops him off the couch and smothers his face with silly kisses, smacking loudly until he starts giggling and shoving her away.

"Hey little brother," she says, hugging him close, squeezing tight. "You smell nice and clean. Already had a bath?"

"No bed," he pouts.

"Hey Alexis," Castle says finally, reaching up over the back of the couch to tug on his daughter's shirt. She drops Dashiell onto the couch cushions and leans over to kiss her father's cheek. "Thanks for being willing to baby-sit."

"Any time. He's crazy fun." Alexis pushes Dashiell back down onto the cushions as he tries scaling the back again. "How far along in the writing have you gotten?"

"Just started the fourteenth chapter, and I already wrote the last one, so it's a matter of working my way to it. I've still got a lot of edits to get through from the publisher, but it's so close to being done. Kate's a lifesaver."

Alexis grins back at Kate and hooks an arm around the woman's shoulders. "I think you need to keep her around."

"Oh, she's not going anywhere," Castle says, throwing her an ominous look and raising an eyebrow."All part of my evil plan."

"You start twirling your mustache and rubbing your hands together, and I'll know you've truly lost it," Kate retorts, breaking eye contact with him to knock Dash off the back of the couch again. Dashiell tumbles into the cushions with a squeal and bounces back up, ready for more.

Alexis's stomach growls loudly in the middle of this, and she claps both hands to her midriff, blushing.

Castle chuckles at his daughter. "Hungry? Kate, how much leftovers we got?"

"Not enough. Let's get pizza." Kate is already pulling her phone out of her pocket to call. "Any special requests?"

"Are you calling Celeste's?" Alexis says, bouncing on her toes. A little Dashiell-like, Kate thinks, grinning at the girl. Maybe it's the Castle genes that react to excitement by bouncing like Tigger.

"I can do Celeste's. They're programmed in here too."

"Ohhh goody," Castle says, turning around on the couch and propping his elbows on the back. Dashiell climbs up next to him, and Castle absentmindedly lays a hand on the boy's back to keep him steady. Castle and Dashiell, two little round faces peering over the couch. "But they don't deliver. Someone will have to go pick it up."

Before Rick can even finish his sentence, Kate and Alexis raise their hands. "Not it!"

Castle glares at them both, and the Dashiell sits up on the back of the couch, throws both arms in the air and yells, "No it!"

Kate and Alexis crack up, giggling, and Rick sighs loudly, leaning his forehead close to Dashiell's. "Oh no you don't buddy. If I have to go, you're coming with me."

"Me, me," Dashiell agrees, and grabs Castle's ears, tugging his father closer. "Pease!"

"Please?" Alexis laughs, gasping now. "Did he just say please?"

Kate wipes the tears from her eyes and shakes her head. "Nope. Pizza."

"Pease!"

"That's right, Dash, you and Daddy can go get our pizza. Now, what do we want?"

* * *

><p>They've ordered what they always order from Celeste's; the pizzas that Kate always wanted to get on her nights working at the precinct but never could (just so expensive for an every day meal). Sometimes she worries that she's getting spoiled, that Castle's money has made her soft. She doesn't like that she prefers Celeste's fifteen dollar 'pizzes' over the $5 Hot and Ready pizzas she'd get with the boys. She wishes, sometimes, that Castle had let her be.<p>

But pizze margherita with fresh tomatoes and basil, organic mozzarella. . .her mouth waters thinking about it. Alexis wanted the quattro stagioni with tomatoes, mushrooms, artichokes, and mozzarella, and Kate knows she'll be eating at least a couple slices of each. Probably more. And Dashiell, bless him, loves both of those when Castle cuts them up into small little bites. The kid doesn't stand a chance.

While the boys are out, Kate and Alexis catch up on all of the girl's classes while cleaning up the leftovers, then hash out their plans for the rest of the week (Alexis rearranged her work schedule on Friday so she could stay until Sunday night) while they toss a salad to accompany dinner. When Kate lived alone, she never added salad to her pizza dinner; it is just another small way that this family has changed her.

"So. . .you never finished telling me about what happened with you and Ashley," Kate says, helping herself to a full plate of salad, and then following Alexis back into the living room.

The girl sits down on the couch, pushing the laptop to the other end, and leaves her plate on her knees as she regards Kate.

"I think we just grew apart. We're not the same people."

"How do you mean?"

"Is that bad?" Alexis blurts out, meeting Kate's eyes. "I mean, we were serious in high school, and for the first year and a half of college. And it's not like I've met someone else, but it's just that he doesn't. . .he and I don't. . .we're moving opposite directions. He's never happy with what I want to do, and I'm not happy with what he wants to do."

"It's not bad, Alexis," Kate says gently. The girl picks at her salad. "It's just what happens when you're still trying to figure out who you are and what you want to do with your life."

"I kind of. . .I wonder about you and Dad," Alexis says back, biting her lip and now steadfastly avoiding Kate's gaze. "You've both changed since. . .and I'm not saying in a bad way. My dad is a much better person for it, but I wonder what you think about that. And then there's having kids. I can't imagine what having kids with Ashley would be like; it seems entirely impossible. We'd hate each other. But you and Dad just. . .you just work. How do you do that?"

Kate sighs. "I don't know, Alexis. There's not a secret formula. I. . .I've never done this before," Kate confesses. "And honestly, sometimes I am so grateful that your dad *has*. He's the one who walks away, who figures out we're arguing over stupid stuff, who knows how to avoid certain pitfalls."

Alexis gives a little laugh, looks up at Kate. "Are you telling me my dad is the more mature one in this relationship?"

Kate laughs back. "Actually. . .yeah?" She twists her face into a mask of incredulity. "I guess I'm saying that. Don't you dare tell him though."

"Never!" Alexis sighs, leans back into the couch with a flop. "Was it wrong to break up with Ashley?"

"Do you still love him?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"But not. . .in love with him."

"You weren't married to him, Alexis. I do think that all relationships go through change; I think people are too quick to bail when things change. But you weren't married to him. And you have all the time in the world to figure out what you want your marriage to look like, and to whom. And who knows? You may not ever want to get married."

"I wan to have kids though," Alexis says and turns her head to look at Kate. "Even if they're all like Dash; it would be. . .fun."

Kate raises an eyebrow at Alexis. "You say that now. . ."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. *I* don't have to raise him 24/7. But I still think I'd love it. Actually, that reminds me. I wanted to ask you about something."

"Yeah?" Kate puts her plate on the coffee table, tries to gird herself for whatever question Alexis has about parenting or relationships. She's not the girl's mother, but so often lately, Kate's been the one she calls for help, for advice, or to complain, to ask for permission. She keeps telling herself that: she's not Alexis's mother. And she's not qualified; she's really not qualified. But-

"Do you think Dad will kill me if I change my major?"

"You don't want to do pre-med anymore?" Kate asks carefully. She knows, for a fact, that Castle will be disappointed. He won't tell Alexis that, will struggle not to let it show, but he has been inordinately proud of Alexis's choice, already planning out the next twenty years of what life will look like. Of course, he's a writer, and his imagination runs away with him.

"No. I have something else in mind. Something important. Just maybe not so. . .glamorous."

"I think your father is proud of you, Alexis. And he'll be fine with whatever choice you make. You might need to give him some time to get used to it, especially if you're suddenly wanting to be a cosmetologist or something-"

Alexis laughs. "No, not that. I want to switch to social work."

Oh. Kate is now the one struggling not to let it show on her face. "Social work," she says carefully, trying not to sound too neutral, definitely not sound negative. Social work. It's such a hard job. So much burnout. They're overworked, underpaid; they deal with heartbreak more often than happy endings.

"The Civic Club joined up with one of the Christian groups on campus to help run a kind of homework help for kids in Washington Heights."

Washington Heights. It still hits her with a jolt. And thinking about Alexis in Washington Heights makes Kate want to do stupid things. Like forbid her from ever setting foot in that part of the city again. Like locking her away in her room until she changes her mind.

"I tutored a girl in biology every Tuesday, and on Thursdays, I helped a boy with his 3rd grade homework. It was amazing, Kate. They're so starved of attention or resources, opportunities. At first, they looked at us like we were some punk college kids who were coming in for a couple weeks to fulfill some service hours, but by the end of last semester, they were all over us. They wanted to know us, they wanted us to know them. Sometimes their stories broke my heart. Sometimes, they're really great kids who just don't know any other way. The 3rd grader brought his little brother to meet me and asked me to stop by their house this summer when the program is over." Alexis puts her plate on the coffee table.

Kate's heart constricts. No, don't go, she thinks. But she won't ever say it. She remembers Little Castle organizing the station's personal effects storage room, trying so hard to find the owner of the photo brag book. The absolute joy and gratitude on Alexis's face when she got to present the young lady with her loved one's possessions. Alexis is made for social work. Alexis has the bleeding, boundless heart for social work.

Alexis is going to kill herself to help people who need help.

"I think you'd be wonderful at it," Kate says finally, and prays that Rick will think first and whine and yell later.

"Really?" Alexis says hopefully, leaning in to hug Kate hard. "I really want to do this. I even found a grad school in social work that I can apply to for early admission. They let you take parallel courses while you're still an undergrad, up to six hours' worth of credit each year."

Kate puts an arm around Alexis, hugs her a little tighter. "Let me tell your dad first, okay?"

Alexis nods, snuggles in beside Kate. "Thank you so much."

"It'll be fine. He'll get used to the idea of you being a superhero social worker instead of an evil mad scientist; I promise."

Alexis giggles. "He was really excited about the mad scientist part."

"He'll get over it." Kate hesitantly lays her cheek on top of Alexis's head. She closes her eyes to dispel the images of her mother, dead in an alley in Washington Heights. She knows Alexis is careful, is with a group, has a good head on her shoulders. Doesn't make it any easier.

She wonders suddenly if Castle feels like this about Kate, sometimes, if he ever sees in his mind's eye all the times Kate has nearly lost her life but didn't because Castle was there to push her out of the way. He's not there now; he's at home with their son. Does that drive him crazy? Does he wonder, all day long, if maybe he should be there to save her?

God.

So this is what it's like. She hates this. She's not even a touchy-feely person, not a hugger, not one of those who clings, but suddenly, she doesn't want to let Alexis go.

Kate wraps both arms around Alexis, keeping the girl at her side on the couch, and tries to quell the panicky objections rising in her throat.

If Rick can do it, so can Kate.


	14. Chapter 14

Rick juggles an excited Dashiell in one arm and the pizza in the other as he walks the short distance from the car to the elevators inside the parking garage. He took the Audi down to Celeste's on Amsterdam, had a terrible time trying to park, and then had to wrangle with Dash. The kid wanted to walk everywhere, but it took too long, and Rick didn't want to waste time herding him.

Now he's practically carrying the boy like a football, trying to keep the pizzas from tilting and getting cheese on the inside of the box. Dashiell is both wired and tired, which keeps him balanced on the edge of a tantrum. He's about to fall right on his head, so Castle stops, sets the pizzas down and adjusts the boy.

"Stop wriggling, kiddo." Castle jiggles him, wraps both arms around his little body, and then shoves his keys into his pocket, pulls out his phone. He punches the button for the elevator and texts Kate that they're on their way up. He squats down for the pizza and uses the wall to keep them balanced until the elevator arrives.

Dash leans forward to push the button himself, over and over. "Ush, ush, ush."

"That's right. Push, push, push," he says absently, checking his twitter account. He posts a tweet about getting Celeste's (he likes to plug local restaurants when he can), and then yelps as Dashiell lunges for the button again and the pizzas start to slide.

Dash tumbles, the pizza boxes slide down the wall, and Rick drops his phone to catch them both. Heart pounding, cradling Dashiell close to his chest, he puts the pizza on the floor and sits down.

He leans his head against the brick, knowing he's practically crushing the kid, but he can't quite unlock his arm muscles yet.

"Daddeee," Dashiell whines, squirming out from under Castle's grip. He gets to the floor and squats down next to the pizzas, putting both hands on the top box. "Ha, ha, ha."

"Yeah, buddy, they're hot." He shoos Dash away from the pizza.

The elevator dings and Castle reaches a hand out to keep the doors from closing. He can't yet get to his feet, still waiting for his heart rate to go back down. But Dashiell pops up and runs for the lift, getting inside before Castle can stop him. He groans, grabs the pizzas, and goes in after him.

"Daddeeeee. Ha pease."

"Hot pizza," he murmurs and holds Dashiell up to push the button for their floor. He leaves the pizzas on the ground. Not taking that chance again.

"Ha pease, ha pease," Dash singsongs, entirely too awake for nearly nine o'clock at night.

When they get off the elevator, Castle lets Dash run down the hallway to their front door, while he follows with the pizzas. A few feet from Dash, and the apartment, he realizes that Kate has left the door open so he'll have an easier time of it.

"Hey! Kate!" He doesn't hear her answer, but Dash is quick and about to burst through the door. "Incoming!"

When Castle clears the door, Dashiell is heading straight for Kate on the couch. He slows, puts the pizzas on the entry table, and pulls his keys and phone out of his pockets. Alexis is cuddled up next to Kate, and Rick suspects that his daughter has just had a nice heart to heart. He takes the pizzas up again and starts for the kitchen, watching Dash with one eye.

Dashiell climbs up Kate's legs to worm his way between Alexis and his mother. "Mine, mine Momma." He wraps his arms around Kate's neck, and she lifts her right arm to allow Dash into the hug.

Alexis, her head still on Kate's shoulder, pokes Dash in the belly. "She's mine too."

Rick stops short on the rug between the kitchen and living room, breathless, and watches Kate.

Alexis, blushing, tries to pull way, apologizing to Kate with her eyes down. Dashiell, clueless, is still chanting, "Mine, mine, mine."

Rick is doing some chanting of his own, waiting for what happens next.

Instead of letting Alexis go, Kate tugs her back down so that the three of them are still cozy on the couch. "And you're mine," she says, squeezing Alexis's shoulders. Then she leans over and kisses the top of Dash's head. "You can learn to share, wild man."

Rick's heart begins to beat again; he blinks and turns away before Kate can see he's been watching the whole thing like a hawk. He puts the pizza on the center island and has to put his hands on the bar to keep it together, his eyes stinging.

Clearing his throat, he pulls down Dashiell's Thomas the Train plate from the cabinet and opens a box. He pulls a couple of slices out and starts cutting them into smaller pieces. When he thinks his voice won't shake, he yells, "Pizza!"

They troop in from the living room, Kate carrying Dashiell, Alexis behind them. Kate bumps her hip into his and grins at him, the grin fading a little when she gets a good look at him. "What?" she asks.

"Nothin'," he says, shaking his head and opening up the other pizza.

She rolls her eyes and takes Dash's plate from him, grabs the sippy cup from the counter, then heads back to the living room. "Get me a plate," she yells over her shoulder.

"Yes ma'am."

"Please," she yells again.

He chuckles to himself and grabs two plates, loading them down with pizza (she can definitely eat when she's in a good mood), and watches his daughter from the corner of his eye. Alexis has that half-bewildered, half-hopeful look on her face, a soft focus kind of look, and she holds her own plate against her chest and stares into space.

"And water!" comes from the living room.

He waits a beat.

"Please!"

"Got it!" Castle smiles and grabs a couple of glasses, then glances at Alexis. "Want water, pumpkin?"

She startles and looks up at him. "Yeah, thanks."

As he puts ice cubes in their glasses and fills them with water from the fridge door, he watches Alexis as she bites her lip, gets her own pizza.

"Dad."

"Yup?" he asks, tossing her a look over his shoulder and hoping it comes off as nonchalant.

"I think I just did something stupid."

He turns around, handing her the water glass, studying her again. She's moved from happy to worried in the space of a heartbeat. "What did you do?"

"I think. . .I think I just called Kate 'mom.'"

"Yeah?"

She leans against the cabinet, her plate steaming with pizza, and chews on her bottom lip. "I mean, I didn't say it, but I guess I said it. I was really just messing with Dash, but. . ."

His heart aches to see the flicker of hopefulness in her eyes. He's always known that a girl needs a mom, but his last attempts at getting her one ended with his second divorce, and since then, he's not tried to force anything again. But Kate. . .it's such a prickly thing.

"What did Kate say?"

Alexis glances up at him with a dreamy smile. "She said that I was hers too."

He smiles softly at his daughter and pulls her in for a hug. "We're family, Alexis. All of us."

She snuggles into his side, balancing her plate and water awkwardly, and then steps back to keep from spilling. "I know that. Me and Dash are siblings, and you're my dad, and Kate's Dash's mom, but I guess I never thought of me and Kate as family before."

Castle frowns.

"Well, that's not true. I think of Kate as family," she says softly, rubbing her finger on the rim of the glass. "I just wasn't sure if Kate thought of me as family."

Rick sighs and takes her plate and glass away, puts them on the counter so he can gather her up into a huge hug. "Hey, pumpkin, now you know better, right?"

She nods into his chest. "I know better."

"Good."


	15. Chapter 15

"Screw the countdown," Kate grumbles, hands on her hips.

"Give it a chance, Kate," he throws back, pushing her out of the living room. "He's got five minutes left."

"I'm not doing this. You do it." She huffs off with a glare at him, as if it's his fault that Dashiell's in the middle of a full-blown screaming fit. Dr. DeLameran suggested they ignore his fits when it has to do with the bedtime thing, just let him scream until he has to go to bed anyway. Castle is attempting that strategy now, with limited success.

Alexis watches Kate stalk off and turns hesitant eyes on her father. Castle waves off her concern. "Not an issue, Alexis."

But she doesn't seem reassured. "Maybe I can talk to him?"

"There's no reasoning with Dashiell when he's like this, pumpkin. You know that."

"But I'm also not his parents. I get to break the rules a little. I can remind him that the more time he spends screaming, the less time he gets to play."

Castle winces as another high-pitched shriek bounces through the room, followed by a thump as one of the kid's toys hitting the wall. "All right. Do it."

Alexis marches into the living room, and after a couple of seconds of listening to her sweet voice trying to override Dashiell's demon-possessed screaming, she actually does it. The kid quiets a little, gives only a scream or two in response, as if to make it quite clear he's not happy with the idea of bedtime, but it's far less ear-splitting.

Maybe he should go find Kate. He doesn't think this is a big deal fight, but it could be. He's got two failed marriages that say Richard Castle doesn't always get it.

When he wanders through to their bedroom, she's running water in the master bath, pulling her socks off with one hand as she tests the water with her other. Yeah, not exactly a good sign. A bath at just past nine o'clock when she's taken at least two showers today? Not good.

"So."

Kate turns and sees him in the doorway, turns away. "Not right now, Castle."

"If not now, then when?"

"Let me handle me. You handle him until I've got me under control again," she snaps.

He waits a second, seriously debating the wisdom of either option. Let her stew in it, literally, or get her more riled up by talking about it. Neither one is appealing. "Alexis is helping us cheat a little."

"What does that mean?"

Oh, wow, testy. "She's trying to talk him out of his fit. That way we don't look like we're caving to his tantrum."

"Nice. Sending Alexis in to do my job."

"Your job?"

She waves him off. "You know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"Castle, I'm not interested in psycho-analysis right now. I want a bath; I want to ignore the fact that my son is completely uncontrollable 90% of the time. I want to forget that I love him best when he's asleep. All right? Can you do that for me?"

He sighs, taps the edge of the doorframe with his knuckle, hesitating.

"Castle," she growls, and stands up, like she'll come at him.

"All right." It's tempting to snap back, but he manages to keep his voice under control and back out gracefully. He shuts the bathroom door behind him.

Rick sits down on the bed and takes a deep breath, gathers himself back together. He's the kind of person who picks at a problem, keeps at it, talks and talks it to death with the goal of exorcising it, like working a splinter loose with tweezers and a sewing needle. Kate is the opposite. She needs time to soothe it away, let the splinter work itself free. The problem with his way is that there's pain and blood involved. The problem with her way is that sometimes it gets infected when it stays in too long.

He thinks this is one of those times when letting it work loose will be better for both of them. No need to dig at the skin around it when she's not in a good place, when she's tired and has spent a rather emotionally draining day with their son. And to be honest, he can still be sensitive about their situation, or rather, how it came about. He doesn't love the idea that he basically trapped Kate into marrying him by getting her pregnant, but as she has reminded him, it was her choice. Whenever they fight about how to handle Dash, that haunts him. . .

Still. He almost can't stand to have her angry like this. Not the good, sexy angry, where she's merely passionately irritated with him. But the bad angry, the kind that has no real focus and eats at her, makes her sharp and uncommunicative. Makes her close off. Makes her say things like, "We're over." He doesn't like that kind of angry.

Rick slinks closer to the bathroom door and listens for a second, hears the splash of water stop and her sigh. Then the sounds of a body slowly breaking the surface, and Castle sinks down as well, leaning against the door one vertebra at a time. He closes his eyes and listens to the silence on the other side of the door.

Five minutes.

He's got to put Dashiell to bed first. He sighs, levers himself back up, and heads out into the living room to corral his young son.

* * *

><p>Kate ducks her head under and lets the water rush into her ears, fill up her head with nothing. She can't even relax with a good book because all her go-to books are his, the selfish idiot. She sighs underwater, releasing bubbles that pop loudly on the surface, then comes back up, blinking as water streams from her face, her shoulders, down her back.<p>

She rubs her fists across her eyes to get rid of the sting of makeup and reaches for the shower gel she left within reach. Vanilla coconut. She breathes it in, feels her shoulders relax a little, begins to feel a little bit bad for snapping at him. Not bad enough to dry off and go find him, but bad enough to need the bath all the more, help her let go of it.

She remembers what she told Alexis, about Castle sometimes being the mature one in their relationship. It's not maturity so much that Castle gets her. He understands. So when she disappears on him, or shuts herself away, he doesn't push. Well, he does. He pushes, but he knows how far he can push and he knows how hard. That's the thing.

It's not a real fight. It's not even a fight. She's just frustrated and tired and she just wants to be done with her son right now; she wants him in bed so she can stop being on guard, stop waiting for the other shoe to drop with him. She sees a disaster looming, but she can't figure out where it's coming from.

She washes her face, smooths soap across her shoulders, down her arms. She lifts each leg one at a time to work the suds across her skin. Rinsing off is like sloughing the day from her body.

There is also the idea lurking in her brain somewhere that she ought to be a better mother. That if she were better, Dashiell would not have screaming fits every night before bed. She knows this is irrational, but today's long nap after a somewhat successful adventure, just the two of them, gave her too much hope. Or reinforcement of an already cracked idea. Either way, today feels like it was a setup, and she's been ambushed.

She dunks her head back under water to stop herself from thinking. Listens to herself not breathing, to the water sloshing in the bathtub, to the soap bubbles fizzle out. The sound of her own heartbeat loud in her ears, a little frantic with frustration, but slowing now. Getting back under control.

She surfaces when she needs air, blinks the water out of her eyes. The water has cooled a little, and she's too conscious now of how much energy it takes to use hot water, and how much water she's wasted today, to refill the tub. She rises out of the water, snags a white towel from the rack, and begins drying off. She does one foot and then the other, her calves and thighs, swipes it across her torso and shoulders, down her arms. She wraps the towel around her chest and lets the water drain.

Everything else drains with it. She sighs and closes her eyes, let's peace settle on her shoulders. She remembers when Dashiell was first born, and his colic kept him up late, woke him every hour or so, and in general pushed her to the edge of despair. She remembers pacing the upstairs hallway with the baby squirming against her chest, both of them exhausted, and running right into Castle on her next turn down the hall. He took Dashiell from her one handed, just when her control was breaking, and then brought her against his side for a crushing hug with the other arm. She remembers the feel of his arm around her, the relief that poured through her, and him saying, "You don't always have to fight so hard, Kate. Not here." And then she cried. Sobbed, really, because she had no control over anything then.

You don't always have to fight so hard.

Sometimes she forgets that. Since her mother's death, she's fought. Fought back, fought hard, fought smart, fought dirty. She likes battling with Castle on some level, but she likes being with him more. Existing in the space he exists in, held tight against him, cushioned by the solid wall of his chest, safe for once, finally.

She opens the bathroom door and yelps when a body falls back into her path.

"Castle." He must have fallen asleep against the door.

He's startled and on his back on the floor. "Hey, I can see straight up your towel from here."

She nudges his temple with her big toe, wanting to frown at him but not doing it. She thinks she's hit her quota of frowns for the day. "What are you doing out here?"

He lifts a finger, still on his back on the floor, and lifts the edge of her towel. "Oh, that's niiice. . ."

She lifts her knee, brings her foot up to his chest and pushes down on his sternum.

He huffs and grins at her upside down. "Dashiell humbly requests the honor of your presence."

"Humbly?"

"I may be paraphrasing it."

"Mm-hm." She pretends to step on him as she steps over, getting a grunt for her efforts and then a long, long sigh as everything flashes by his eyes.

"What a tease," he mutters.

"That's why you married me," she retorts and drops the towel to pull on underwear and pajamas.

He gets up off the floor quickly, but she's faster. Tshirt and panties are on before he has a chance to touch. She smirks at him in triumph and pulls her shorts on slowly, just for his benefit. "Gotta see what Dash wants."

"No you don't. It's been like thirty minutes at least. He'll be fine."

"He'll be awake."

"So? Teach him a lesson."

"I'm tired of teaching lessons," she grumbles back, but leans in to let his lips meet hers. Soft, tender, apologetic.

When she breaks away, he sighs again. "Go see Dash."

She steps away from him, saluting. "Yes, sir."

From the doorway she hears him: "You're really trying to kill me."


	16. Chapter 16

When Kate walks through the living room, Alexis gives her one of those hesitant smiles. She's about to keep on going, but she pauses on the bottom step, reconsidering. She can hear Dashiell already, babbling to himself, high-pitched and urgent, but Alexis's look bothers her. Kate turns around and heads back to the couch, stops behind the girl and drops a hand on her head.

"You okay, Alexis?"

The girl lifts her face with a smile, beaming back at her. "I'm good. Are you. . .are you and Dad fighting?"

Kate sighs and comes around the couch to sit on the arm. "No. We're not fighting. Were you worried?"

Alexis thumbs down the volume on the television and nods, turning back to Kate. "A little. I just. . .I know he's a handful but-"

"Dash is more than a handful," Kate sighs.

"Oh." Alexis laughs, covering her mouth. "Um, I meant my dad."

Kate laughs back, dropping her head into her hands. "Oh my gosh, you're right. Thanks. That helps. It's all Castle's fault. It's not me at all."

Alexis touches her arm. "It's not your fault, Kate."

Kate lifts her head and sees her wise, generous step-daughter. "Thanks, Alexis." She reaches out and strokes a hand through Alexis's hair, suddenly able to see, so clearly, why Rick wants another little girl. Oh goodness. A little girl like this. What was Alexis like as a three year old, a kindergartner? Oh, Kate's doomed.

Alexis sits very still under Kate's hand, watching her, something brittle and needy in her eyes. It makes Kate hurt to see it. She leans forward again and presses a kiss to the girl's forehead. "I love you, kiddo."

When she pulls back, Alexis is brushing back tears, giving her an embarrassed grin. "I love you too, Kate. You've been. . .so great. I just, sometimes I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Hey, you dont have to worry about that." She stands up, takes Alexis's hand in hers and squeezes. "You don't ever need to worry about that."

Alexis nods and smiles back, and Kate releases her, knowing the girl needs some time to recover. Kate heads for the staircase. "I'm going to tuck in Dash."

As she mounts the stairs, she listens for her son. After a moment, she can hear that babbling, the baby talk that makes sense only to his own ears. The closer she gets to his room, the more the babbling sounds. . .off. Wrong somehow. There's a tone to it that makes Kate hurry down the hall.

When she pushes open the door, Dashiell shrieks. But it's not an excited, _here I am_ shriek; it's a shriek of fear.

Fear.

"Dash? Baby, what's wrong?" She can't see in the darkness, but she can tell that Castle hasn't put the blanket back over the crib. Dashiell is standing up, hands on the bars, fat tears streaming down his cheeks. When he sees her, he cries, "Momma, momma, momma!"

"What's wrong, buddy?" She leans over and strokes the hair back from his forehead, kisses the tears on his cheeks. "It's bedtime."

"Carry you," he whines, lifting up on his tiptoes, raising his arms to get a death grip on her forearms, digging in so hard with his nails that it actually hurts. Yesterday, she might have said no and tried to put him back down in bed, but tonight. . .tonight she hears something in his voice that scares her because of how scared *he* sounds. It's not a whine anymore, it's pitiful desperation. He's already scaling the railing and pulling himself up into her by his arms.

"Okay, baby, okay," she whispers and bends down to scoop him up. With a whimper, Dashiell curls tight against her chest, gripping her tshirt with hands so strong that he pinches her chest too. She adjusts him a little, uncurling his fists, and he begins moaning at her. "No, no, no, no, Momma."

"I got you, baby. I got you. You're okay." She preses her lips to his forehead and keeps them there, bouncing lightly, rubbing her hand up and down his back, still working at his hands to get them to let go of her.

She feels the moment his little body gives up and breaks, tears pouring down his cheeks in weary sobs, hot and wet against her tshirt. She murmurs nonsense to him, humming, swaying back and forth. He still cries, heartbreaking tears that soak her to the skin. Kate's eyes have adjusted to the dark and she finds his baby blanket, the soft blue polka dots, and picks it up to wrap around him. Dash lifts up long enough to let her tuck it around him, then rubs his cheek against his blanket, pitiful noises still coming out of him as he sobs.

"What's wrong, baby?" she murmurs against his head. "What's wrong, huh? Did you have a bad dream? Did you get scared?"

"Carry you," he says between cries.

"Okay, okay. I got you." Kate gives up on settling him and heads for the door, drawing the blanket up around his head to keep the light from hurting his eyes. "Let's go find your Daddy, okay? Daddy can make it all better."

She has an easy time of it down the stairs, Dashiell is so still and pitiful against her, and when she gets to the living room, Alexis stands up to meet them, concern on her face. "What's wrong, Dash? Hey bubba, what's wrong?"

For a second, Kate considers handing him off to Alexis, but Dashiell has resumed his death grip on her, one fist is even tangled in her hair. Instead, she stops and turns so that Alexis can see his face. "He still crying?" she whispers.

Alexis nods, her sad face mimicking her brother's. "Bubba, you're breaking my heart. You're okay now." Alexis leans in and kisses Dashiell's cheek, rubs his back.

"Hear that, baby? You're making Alexis sad too." Kate pulls back to look at Dash, trying to see his face, but he buries himself against her any time it looks like she might be moving away. "Okay, all right, just stop crying. Let's find Daddy. Daddy will know what's wrong."

"Hey, what's wrong, Dash?"

Kate looks up at his voice and meets his worried eyes with her own. "He was. . .scared," she whispers, moving closer to Rick like a magnet as he walks through the room. When he reaches her, he gathers them both up against his chest, kissing first Kate, then Dash, then opening his right arm to Alexis and pulling her in as well. Kate realizes that everyone in their little family is worried, concerned by Dashiell's strange tears.

"Hey there, my man, what's wrong?" Rick moves to pick him up, but Dash screams so loudly that Kate startles and nearly drops him, her ears ringing. Rick backs up, Alexis steps back, and Kate jiggles Dash kind of manically, pressing a hand against his head to hold him against her.

"It's okay, it's okay. Daddy just wanted to give you a hug, baby."

"Mom-ma," he wails, as if he expects her to disappear at any moment. The tears start afresh, those alligator drops that roll down his cheeks. This is the cry he has when he's banged himself up pretty hard, the cry he has when Alexis has been home for awhile and leaves again for school. This isn't his melodramatic fit; this is real. "Mom-ma, Mom-ma," he hiccups.

"Whoa, okay. I'm here; Momma's here."

Alexis moves to her father's side and hugs him; the two stand there watching Kate as she bounces up and down, sways, holds Dash close, cuddling him. She gives Castle a pleading look, seeking his help, but he shrugs.

"Was he crying this whole time?" she says.

Alexis shakes her head. "Dad put him down, and after that, he was quiet. I thought he fell asleep."

"He fussed at me for carrying him up, but as soon as we got inside his room, I was able to rock him a little and put him down. He was asleep when I left. Or mostly asleep. He woke when I put him in his crib, but he didn't complain. In fact, the countdown worked pretty well."

The effing countdown better not be the reason her son is weeping, she thinks. Kate chews on her bottom lip as she sways, her arms getting heavy. She works out, she does combat training, but her arms just do not have the endurance to hold her 18 month old for this long. "Is he sick?"

Rick shakes his head. "No. I think it's just a bad dream. Alexis used to get them when she was a baby. Not as bad as this, but they're actually not dreams; they're night terrors. They don't come during REM sleep, so the body doesn't know how to handle them. They feel real, instead of like dreams, and a baby or toddler who is having a night terror isn't really awake, even though they look like they are."

"Are you telling me he's still dreaming?" she hisses.

Rick shrugs. "Well, he's not acting normal, is he? He's never screamed when I've tried to pick him up. He doesn't seem to know that you're here, holding him either. He's still calling for you."

"This is bad," Kate says, and hates how her son's tearfulness can reduce her to helplessness in seconds. She doesn't know what to do; she doesn't know how to make it better. She just stands in place and jiggles him up and down, rocks back and forth, and prays her arms don't rip out of their sockets.

"I can't remember what we did for Alexis, but I think she just outgrew it." Castle gives her an apologetic look. "Hey, come sit on the couch. If he'll let you," Castle says, grabbing her by the elbow and leading her to a seat.

She sits down gingerly, expecting Dash to scream again, but the boy seems worn out, listless against her chest. Kate lets her shoulders drop and her head rest against the cushions. Rick sits close beside her, curls both his arms around her, and she sinks gratefully towards him, needing some comfort of her own.

"You're doing just fine," he murmurs, close to her ear. So Alexis won't hear, so Kate's not mortified over how inept she feels, how much she needs that reassurance.

Alexis stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, still with the remote control. Kate's too mentally fried to even think of something comforting to say to her, to let her know she's welcome on the couch, but Alexis heads for the blu ray player instead. She fiddles with the tv for a minute and then Baby Einstein comes softly through the player.

Dash doesn't look at the tv, but his body is beginning to relax again. He's still got a death grip on her hair, her shirt, that he doesn't seem to want to let go of. Kate smiles in relief at Alexis and holds a hand out to her. Alexis comes back to the couch and sits beside Kate, taking her hand and squeezing.

"Good idea, Alexis."

Just in case he really is awake, Kate angles a little so that Dash can see some of the television while a baby watches a merry-go-round toy. A duck splashes in a puddle. A woman counts to ten in Japanese while toy clowns climb a motorized staircase, only to slide back down to the bottom.

Baby Einstein is goofy and weird, but Dashiell is always hypnotized. Kate feels his body relax, one muscle at a time; first his little legs go loose and drop from around her waist, then his shoulders come down from around his ears, and then his head leans heavily against her neck. Finally, his fingers go slack and Rick starts to unweave her hair from his fists. Dashiell lets him, his eyes growing heavier, finally closing.

Kate keeps her cheek pressed to the top of Dash's skull, breathing slowly, smelling his tear-free shampoo and tear-induced sweat, the distinct sweet smell of baby wipes. She makes circles on his body with her fingers, first at his back, then his arm, his shoulder, moving to circle his face, his closed eyes, his pursed mouth. Each time she draws a circle on his skin, his little heavy body grows even heavier.

When he does fall back to sleep, it's deep and immediate, none of the mouth smacking or the limbs twitching that usually accompanies falling asleep. Maybe Castle is right and this was a night terror. But Kate can't bear to take him back upstairs alone. She rearranges the blanket back around him, smooths down his hair, wipes the last of his pitiful tears from his cheeks, and then looks at Castle.

"I know what I said."

Castle, one arm on the back of the couch, the other on her thigh, squeezes her knee; he already knows. "But."

"But if he's having nightmares that he can't wake up form? he's sleeping in our bed tonight."

Castle regards her for a moment, then sighs. "Yeah." A long pause and then, "You want to put him down now?"

Kate shakes her head. It still hurts, inside her chest like it's been split open. Every time she's breathes, she sees his fat tears, his trembling lip, hears his pitiful cries for momma.

"He'll be fine tomorrow," Rick says softly, gently into her hair, brushing it back from her neck with a hand. "You'll see. He'll probably have forgotten the whole thing."

_But I won't._


	17. Chapter 17

Kate and Alexis stay up in the living room to watch a girly movie that Alexis orders from satellite, but Rick scoops up his son and carries him into their bedroom. The boy is deeply asleep and Kate's arms are going numb she says, so Rick figures it's a good time to get him settled. He was a little surprised by the look in Kate's eyes when she came to him with Dashiell sobbing, that look of _help me_ that he so rarely sees, but he's not too concerned himself.

Night terrors are common enough, and do no real damage. Alexis doesn't remember hers, has had no lasting repercussions. Dashiell will be up tomorrow morning, as boundless and energetic as always, and surely that will ease Kate's mind. He's never figured her for a worrier.

Rick lowers Dash to their bed, then puts a few pillows on either side of him to keep him from rolling off. The bed is a king-sized, so he doesn't expect Dash to ever make it to the edge, but with Dash, doesn't hurt. He looks down at his son, the chubby cheeks and the dark hair, the open mouth and the little fist curled up next to his face, and then leans down and kisses his head, eyes closing to breathe him in.

What is it about kids? He loves this one, all over, every bit, even the parts of Dashiell that drive Rick nuts and break his patience and make Kate desperate. It doesn't make sense. Standing here with his palm on his son's head, he wants another kid, wants to try this again and see what happens next, plunge right into it.

But things are never easy with them, and Kate's trauma with Dash just. . .it scares him too much. It's not another kid he needs in his life, it's Kate. This doesn't work without her. Well, and now Dash. Both of them added to Alexis, who is his firstborn and his baby girl, no matter how old or how many years of college. So yes, his list of needs has grown, but the three of them are his, are necessary for his life, and he doesn't really need anything else.

Sometimes he still gets that wild idea of _wouldn't it be nice_ and he goes to his laptop and writes scenes where Nikki Heat gets pregnant, or Rook takes his baby daughter to the police station for the first time to show her off, or Nikki is woken up by her three little kids crawling into bed with her. He deletes those; he'll never show them to Kate, never; he gets it out of his system.

Still.

He glances at the clock, listens for the girls out in the living room, and then go grabs his laptop. He has real work he needs to do on the book, but now that he's been distracted, he thinks he could sit down on the bed next to his sleeping son and write something else for awhile. Just a little bit, just to keep it out of the book.

When he's written a few scenes where Nikki, completely out of character and too sweet to be believed, puts her daughter to bed, the daughter she doesn't and will not ever have, not in Castle's writing life, Rick allows himself to delete everything and start up on his book again. What always gets him stuck, when writing drivel like this, is that he can't figure out what she'd name a little girl. He can think of lots of names that Rook would think were appropriate, most of those are nothing but jokes, and it's a sign of returning reality when he gets to that point.

So now he settles down to editing the last couple of chapters, based on the list his editor has given him, and finds himself back in the flow of his novel right when Kate comes in for bed.

"Oh, I thought you'd gone to bed," she says.

He waves his hand at her, still engrossed with this next scene: Ochoa piecing together the clues to discover where Rook is being held against his will. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he registers Kate brushing her teeth, using the bathroom, washing her face, saying something to him about Alexis that he completely misses.

Castle feels the bed dip as Kate climbs in beside him, rather than over on her side of the bed, and he looks up in confusion. "What are you doing?"

She laughs at him. "You put Dash in my spot, you're in the middle, and so I'm here. Unless you move-"

Castle glances around and realizes Dash has migrated to Kate's side of the bed. "Oh, I didn't. He moved. Here, let me-" He lifts the laptop and stands on the bed, steps delicately over her. "You get there."

"No way, he kicks. You get in the middle."

"No, Dash gets in the middle. I mean, you get over there. I'll drag him back to the middle."

"Oh. But he kicks in his sleep. And he's sweaty," she frowns.

"God, the whining is so attractive, Kate," he grins.

She swats him as she moves, glaring. "I'm tired. Leave me alone."

"I've just got this last little bit to write. Am I going to keep you up?" he says, settling back down on his side as he takes an arm and a leg and pulls Dash slowly back to the middle of the bed. The boy doesn't even stir. He props his laptop on his knees.

"Nope, not a bit." Kate sighs as she slips under the sheets and lays her head down. She turns her body to look at him, at Dashiell, and raises her hand to stroke the sweaty hair off their son's face. "I like falling asleep to the sound of the keys."

"You lie." He grins back at her, one eyebrow raised. "You hate it."

"I don't hate it." She grins back. "Well, if it had a rhythm. It has no rhythm. You do too much stopping and starting."

"I have 1500 words left to do. That okay?"

She nods and tucks a hand up under her chin, her shoulders drawn in. "Oh, almost forgot. Alexis and I are going for a run in the morning."

"I'll get Dash up then-"

"No, he's coming too. Jogging stroller."

He gives her a long, careful look. "Again, you lie."

"No, really. It's fine. We're going to take turns pushing it. It won't be as bad as last time."

"Kate, last time you told me to tell you, that if you ever did this again, I had the right to shoot you. Or talk your ear off about the evolution of the anti-hero in comic book mythology-"

"Okay, okay, I know I said that" she grumbles, but her lips are twitching. "I guess you can just start your fangirl analysis now, and maybe *that* will put me to sleep. Because I really think it will be fine. And besides, you're supposed to be writing this week, not worrying about me and Dash."

He leans his head back on the padded headboard and turns back to the screen, rereading the last line. "I'll be doing that anyway."

"You worry about me?" She lifts her head up and props it on her fist. "Do you really?"

Uh-oh. He senses he's maybe walking into a landmine here. Pay attention. "Not always. Just. . .sometimes."

"When I'm with Dash."

"Yeah," he says, giving her a lopsided smile.

"You really think I can't handle him? Rick. . .do you think I'm any good at this?" The first is said with some heat, but the next part, and the hesitant disappointment in her face, have him putting aside the laptop to pick her up and drag her body over the bed and into his lap for a hug.

"Kate, no. I worry about you because you're my wife, and I love you. Because he's my son, and God, if anything happened to both of you, out there. . ."

She is already untangling herself from his arms, a hand on his chest, sitting across from him on the bed. "You know I can handle just about anything."

"I know. I didn't say it was rational."

"I don't worry about *you*, Castle," she says, her eyebrows knitting together. He thinks maybe this bothers her a little.

It doesn't bother him. "Kate, you're not irrational. I am. Just how things are."

She cracks a little bit of a smile, the kind where she tries to hide it from him. "Maybe I should be worried about you."

He laughs back. "Wouldn't want to upset the delicate balance of the universe, Kate."

She leans in across the distance and rises to her knees to kiss his forehead, then that spot below his left eye where the skin is soft, then his mouth. "I love you, even when I don't understand you or how you work, Castle."

"I think I'm flattered?" he murmurs, kissing the corner of her mouth.

"Don't be. I wasn't looking to stroke your ego."

"How about other things?"

She breaks from his kiss to look over at Dashiell, tilts her head, then looks back at him. "Alexis is still watching tv in the living room."

He thinks for a second. "Bathroom?"

"Shower," she grins, and wraps her legs around his waist. "Go. Now."


	18. Chapter 18

She's beautiful.

Castle watches her sleep for just a second longer, her hair splayed along the pillow, her back towards him, her body sloping in an S-curve under the sheets. Between them, Dash is restless and murmuring, a hot little fist scrunched under one cheek.

He checks the time on his laptop and decides it's a good place to stop; his brain is delightfully numb. He can feel the pieces for the next scene somewhere in the primordial ooze of his subconscious but he won't get at it tonight. He closes the laptop and puts it on the floor, stretches out his back with a wide yawn. His ribs ache from being hunched over in bed writing for a couple hours, and he's got a knot in his neck that won't quit, but he feels really good about the novel.

Body Heat. That's the title he came up with sometime a few hours ago, sent off to his editor. Kate's gonna give him the cold shoulder for a few days for that one, but it fits perfectly. The serial killer in the book is based a lot on Rick's experiences with the Triple Killer, but to be on the safe side, he's changed every single detail of the killer's m.o. He doesn't know where the guy is now, or what terrible things he's done, but he definitely doesn't want him recognizing himself in Castle's book.

It still creeps him out. There's a latent sense of responsibility that he knows is illogical and unnecessary, but the emotional fallout from being conned by a killer is the least of his real worries. But he's glad, suddenly, that Kate and Dash are sleeping beside him. And now he's got to go find Alexis and reassure himself there as well.

He slides out of bed and stumbles in the dark before orienting himself. When he gets out into the living room, he sees Alexis has passed out on the couch, her own laptop flashing a slideshow of images, half of which Castle hasn't ever seen before. He watches for a second, seeing her happy college life, the room mates and friends he's never met, the boys she's smiling with, the fun parties and candid shots, and he realizes that his daughter has been making all the effort lately. She's been the one to come home, to seek him out, to keep their relationship up to speed. He's done nothing but obsess over missing Kate every day and worry about his son.

And here's his beautiful daughter, experiencing all of what college has to offer (within reason, he certainly, fervently hopes) and he's been neglecting her. He's never not wanted to spend time with her, but recently he sees that he's not really been present when she's here.

He's done it before. He's like this when he's in the middle of writing a book, especially when it all hits him in a rush like this. It doesn't make him happy, but he at least understands it. He hopes she does too.

Instead of waking her, he pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over her long body, tucking it in around the edges to keep the cool air out. He brushes his hand along her forehead and closes her laptop.

All accounted for.

Castle pads back into his bedroom and bypasses the bed to brush his teeth. He needs a nightly ritual to scrub the words of death and memories of a serial killer out of his brain. He's not haunted; he's just purged himself of quite a lot of emotional garbage, and he wants to let it sit for awhile, revel in the clean feeling inside his head.

He still doesn't know how Kate does this. He knows that the case she caught earlier in the week was a young girl tortured and murdered, but he also knows that the lack of resolution will eat at her. She needs to see things to their completion; she's told him that before. Closed cases make her happy, give her this same clean feeling in her head. He knows that. But she won't get it with her latest case; Esposito or Ryan will solve it, sure, and make the arrest, but it will linger for Kate.

She told him once, "You write them and I'll read them." At the time, he thought she was just being supportive, (and also insisting that she didn't want to read his rough drafts ever) but he thinks now that this is her way to dump her own emotional baggage. Escapism, yes, but the resolution at the end of a mystery novel puts everything to right. Of course, he's written novels where the killer goes free, but when everyone knows who it is, when the reader knows why, most of all, those are still satisfying reads. He's noticed that those aren't Kate's favorites, but she's read them more than once.

Kate's favorite, actually, is the first Nikki Heat, and he's betting it's more sentimental than she'd ever admit. It makes him smile around his toothbrush.

He spits, rinses his mouth, and heads back to bed.

* * *

><p>He's awake an hour later, blinking, his heart racing, and he realizes that Dash has kicked him or something because the kid is sideways in the bed and making noise. Not loud, but insistent, like he's demanding attention in a dream. Castle glances to Kate but she's still asleep; she's always been able to sleep through Dash's low-key nighttime antics (no one can sleep through his screaming fits though). He clears his throat and curls an arms around Dash's body, dragging him back to the middle of the bed, rubbing his back to soothe him.<p>

"Shh," he says blearily, putting a sloppy kiss to the boy's cheek. Dash isn't awake yet, just restless, and Castle is dipping back down into sleep despite the occasional thrashing.

"Momma," the boy says clearly and Castle lifts his head, but Dash is asleep.

He glances to Kate again, who is still on her right side, back to him, and then he slides his arm around his son and curls him up against his chest.

Dashiell melts against him, sighing, and his restlessness stills.

* * *

><p>The little wild man has evidently forgotten everything this morning. Kate opens one eye, sees the face looming over her, the sweet breath against her chin.<p>

"Momma," he gabs happily, patting her chest with a hand.

What time is it? She turns her head and looks at the alarm clock. Four in the morning. Oh, jeez.

"Go back to sleep, baby," she whispers, patting his back. He's somehow crawled on top of her, his legs hanging off her ribs. She slowly rolls over so that Dash is back in the middle, curls an arm around him, and closes her eyes.

The little body wriggles, squirms, moves under her arm. Jostling, whispering to himself, putting his fingers down her shirt. She opens one eye to glare at him, but he's gloriously indifferent, smiling and awake. Too awake. Castle is out cold on the other side.

"Sleep, baby. It's too early to get up."

She turns over to burrow back into her warm spot, his feet pressed against her back. But he's relatively quiet, and she's falling asleep in seconds.

* * *

><p>She wakes again only an hour later, panicked but not sure why. Her heart is racing. She sits up, glances around, but can't see Dash anywhere.<p>

Oh shit. Mistake, big mistake. She throws off the covers and lurches out of bed, drops to one knee as she loses her balance, and happens to catch sight of the baby blanket half under the bed. Kate pauses, rubs a hand over her face, and lifts the edge of the bedding to peer under the bed.

Dashiell is asleep in the close darkness, his blanket tucked under his chin, thumb in his slack mouth. She drops the comforter back in place and leans against the side of the bed.

What now?

Their bedroom door is closed. She gets up and shuts the bathroom door as well, softly, and glances over at Castle. He's asleep on his back, one hand on his chest, the other splayed in the middle of the bed, as if he had one hand on Dash all night long. Kate moves to the window and twists the blinds tighter, blocking out the early morning light, and then crawls into bed again.

Is it wrong to go back to sleep? It's five a.m. and while some people do get up this early, it's still obscene. On her day off. With Castle warm in their bed.

She slides up next to him, moving his arm a little so that she can press up against his side. She pushes her toes to his calf and he jerks in his sleep, but doesn't wake.

She lays her head on his arm, finds that uncomfortable, and moves so that she's lying against his chest now, almost draped over him. The hand on his chest twitches and she laces her fingers through his, sighing.

A few more hours then. Dash asleep in the darkness under the bed, and Castle-

He rolls towards her, mumbling something, and she looks up to see his eyes open. More comfortable this way, and he drops a kiss to her forehead before laying his head on his arm and pulling her in tighter, closer, her body cocooned by his.

She closes her eyes now, safe, her heart back to normal, and falls back asleep.

* * *

><p>She's jostled awake. Again. She grunts and slaps him away.<p>

"Kate!"

She cracks an eye and checks the time, just past his head. Only five-thirty. "Not funny, Castle," she mutters, closes her eyes again.

"Kate. I've lost him. I can't find him anywhere."

The words don't register but the tone and intensity do. She opens both eyes, lifts her head. Rick is perched on his side of the bed, jeans on, a hand at her shoulder. He looks pale.

She drags awareness back, tries to focus. "What?"

"I've lost him, Kate. Dash. I can't find him anywhere, and it's already five-thirty, but I've looked all over the loft-"

"Jeez, Castle." She sits up, scrubs at her face, yawns. "Under the bed." She points down, then seeing the blank look on his face, leans over to lift up the side of the comforter. "Under here."

Castle drops to his hands and knees and looks, then lets out a long breath. "Shit. My heart is about to come out of my chest."

She lets the bedding fall back down and he leans against the side of the bed, panting. She touches the top of his head, gently runs her fingers through his scalp. She's still half-asleep, but it strikes her as funny, his bleached face and the shakiness of his hands.

"You are not so good at hide and seek," she says.

"This isn't funny."

"It is a little."

"No it's not," he growls, tilting his head back on the bed to see her. "I just wrote a murder scene, you just told me about a girl getting tortured, and I wake up and can't find my son. It is so not funny."

She sobers up a little, shifts closer to him to kiss the side of his mouth where she can reach, her hand on his head drifting to his shoulder, squeezing the knots there. "Blame your overactive imagination, Rick. Now get back in bed."

"Next time leave me a note," he grumbles, crawling up into bed with her.

She shifts over to make room for him. "Next time check under the bed."

"Next time don't put him in bed with us." He pulls her back against him.

"Next time write your murder scenes in the daylight," she shoots back, but the heat of it is in her eyes, not her voice, and she strokes the hair off his temple, kisses the faint scar there. "Now sleep."

He leans into her, sighing, and she lets him drape himself all over her, like a big kid, but she doesn't have the energy or heart to push him off.

"Big baby."


	19. Chapter 19

Dash isn't the one who wakes her up. It's Alexis, who stands over the bed looking both hesitant and concerned.

"I thought you said 7?" she says softly.

Kate blinks and looks around. The blinds are tightly closed, which accounts for her not waking up any sooner, and Dash is still out of sight.

"Sorry. Overslept." Her voice is a croak.

"Where's Dashiell?" Alexis asks, ducking her head to look at the floor.

"Under the bed," Kate whispers, and lifts up on her elbows. Castle's arm slips down to her waist, and she pauses for a moment to make sure he's still asleep before carefully easing out from under him.

Alexis is kneeling next to the bed and peering under it, her face breaking out into a huge grin. "Hey, bubba. You having fun under there?"

"Is he awake?" Kate drops down next to Alexis and looks. Sure enough, Dashiell is awake in the darkness, although quiet and sleepy-looking. His blanket is bunched around his neck like a scarf and he's dirty from all the dust, but he also looks about as well-rested as she's ever seen him. Apparently he's been entertaining himself for awhile.

"Momma," he says happily and rolls over onto his belly to grin at them. "Is-siss."

"Yeah, it's sissy. She's going to play with us today. Come on, Dash, let's get out from under there now." Kate reaches under the bed and tugs on his blanket, pulling it free first as some enticement for Dashiell to follow. The bed is about ten inches off the ground and while she can fit under there, she'd rather not.

"Carry you," he whines and scoots forward on his belly, then stops.

Kate takes him by the armpit and pulls until she can get both hands on him, and then she's got him out. "Whew, you're a mess. Daddy's gonna have to vacuum under there."

Alexis laughs. "Yeah right. Dad's going to tell Linda to do it."

Kate smiles. "True. Close enough." She brushes off the worst of the dust bunnies from Dashiell's hair and face, then kisses his cheek. "Good morning, my little man."

Dashiell twists his body away and scoots back, then snatches up his baby blanket and puts his thumb in his mouth. He leans his head into it, then crawls back into her lap as she sits in the floor with Alexis.

"Oh." This is rare. "He's got to be sick," she mutters.

"Does he have a fever?" Alexis asks.

"You two keep it down," a voice grumbles.

Kate looks up, a sly smile splitting her face, and sees Castle's face hanging off the side of the bed. "Are we disturbing your rest?"

"Yes you are, woman. It's 7 o'clock in the morning." He grumbles but his eyes are already closing. "Get out of here already. Go be. . .healthy." He shivers like it's appalling and waves his hand at them.

"Dashiell, want to help wake Daddy up?" Kate says with a nasty grin.

Castle's eye opens; an early morning glare. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"Daddee up?" Dash says, looking confused.

Kate winks at Dash and leans in close to whisper, "No baby. Daddy is gonna sleep in."

"That's right. You better run."

Alexis gets on her knees to kiss his cheek. "Morning to you too, Dad."

"Uh-huh,"he grunts.

Kate gathers up Dash and gets to her feet, nudging Castle in the cheek with her knee. "See you later, lazy bones."

"Ow."

"Whatever."

* * *

><p>She remembers now why she told Castle to prevent her from ever doing this again. Alexis suggests running straight down West 87th to Riverside and out to the dog park there; Dashiell loves dogs and he might even be able to get out and run around. Which Kate thinks is a great idea. What isn't such a great idea? Strapping Dash into a jogging stroller at 7 in the morning.<p>

His howling could wake the dead.

Of course, she's in the apartment lobby trying to wrestle the kid into the safety restraints while he screams right in her ear and Alexis holds the stroller. The whole place will be up in seconds if she can't get them out of here, but Dash is completely uncooperative. She'd been the one to manhandle the beast of a jogging struggle out of their hall closet, into the elevator, and out into the lobby, folded up because it doesn't fit otherwise. Alexis got the task of corralling Dash, which was a terrible job too, but maybe Kate should've told her to carry him (and let him pitch a fit to get down), just so getting into the stroller might seem comparatively better.

"Dash, if you're good for momma, we can pet the dogs at the park. Remember the dogs?"

"You like the doggies, Dash. You'll get to run around with them," Alexis adds helpfully, bending over to lend Kate a hand, keeping a foot behind the back wheel to prevent it from rolling backwards.

"No, no, no, no!" he screams. "No, Dash!"

"He must hear that a lot," Alexis murmurs. "'No Dash.'"

Kate and Alexis exchange looks; Alexis giggles. Before Dash's outburst, Kate was one second away from screaming back at him. Good thing he's sometimes funny like that. And she's had sleep; she wasn't even that frustrated with him this morning. Not getting him fed, not wiping his face and hands, not getting him dressed, not putting on his shoes. None of those times, even with his insistence on either doing it himself or not doing it at all, brought up this absolute frustration like public tantrums did.

She bends his arm back, yanks it through the strap to keep him from wriggling it out, then gives his hand to Alexis to hold so Kate can then work on the other arm. With his older sister holding his hand, he can't worm his way too far out of the strap. Kate puts her forearm across his chest and exerts a little pressure, bending him towards the seat even as he arches his back and digs his heels into the footrest.

Jeez. She's a police detective. She's been trained in physical restraint holds that are intended to prevent injuries in both parties (and also to prevent the officer from being sued for excessive force). But she can't get her son into his stroller. It's a freaking nightmare.

She wants to curse, loudly, all kinds of words that aren't appropriate for Dash to hear. Or Alexis. But she doesn't.

Instead, she exerts a little more force with her forearm, sweeps her hand behind his knees, and tumbles him back into the seat. While he's still stunned, she snakes his left arm through the strap and buckles the two together. He arches up, but the harness keeps him in the seat. He starts to raise both arms to slip out, but Kate has already pulled the bottom strap up and is hooking it into the other two.

Dash is furious.

Kate grins. "Ha!"

Alexis bursts out laughing at that, which causes Dash to turn his head and look at his sister, surprised. "She got you, kid. You're in."

Kate smiles back, triumphant, and stands up, brushing the sweat off her palms and onto her knee-length running shorts. The back of the jogging stroller has a zippered pouch that she tosses her keys and phone into, taking Alexis's from the girl and putting them inside as well. She grabs the Yankees cap from the pouch and pulls her hair back into a ponytail, leaving the ends tucked up into her rubber band so it won't be quite so long. She puts on the hat, pulls it down to just over her eyes and looks to Alexis.

The girl flashes her a smile, dressed in workout capris and a sleeveless shirt. Kate still has her long-sleeved running shirt on; a temperature in the high 50s this morning is still too cold for her until she gets going. By the end, she'll have pushed the sleeves up, but right now she's still chilled. Kate bounces on her toes a little and pushes the stroller towards the front doors.

The doorman, Mike, opens it up for them and gives them a pained smile. Dashiell is still giving screeches from the stroller, but they're mostly indignant. He'll shut up as soon as she can get this going; he loves to people watch, and the force of being propelled down the sidewalk makes him a little drowsy.

Beside her, Alexis is silent as they work into a brisk walk, warming up their muscles.

"How far do you usually run?" Kate asks. People are giving them looks, either sympathetic or pissed depending on the looker's age. The younger the pedestrian is, the worse the look gets.

"I'm up to six miles."

"Oh, wow, good job. Are you doing the marathon this year?"

"I'm thinking about training for the half. Are you doing it?" Alexis begins to do a slow jog, still keeping pace with the stroller.

"Your dad wants me to. I don't know." Kate shrugs. "He wants it to be an event. A publicity event."

Alexis laughs. "You mean, Paula wants it to be an event."

"Probably. Although he knows better than to tell me she's the one behind it. But he asks me to do so little publicity stuff that I feel like I owe him one."

Alexis huffs out a breath as they stop at the light. "Don't feel like that. Dad's got strict rules for Paula when it comes to family. He has control of it all. I don't even get photographers skulking around the college anymore."

"Well they shouldn't be. You're a kid."

"I'm over 18. Free game," Alexis says, shrugging. "But when I started there, Dad talked to campus security and they have a deal worked out. The photographers figured it out and left."

"Well, I'm an adult. I chose this. I think it's only fair that I share the responsibility somehow. And so far, they've been respectful about Dash. I guess, I feel like I owe them as well. If I give them enough of me, then they'll leave him out of it."

"Ew," Alexis laughs, and starts crossing when the light changes. Kate heaves the stroller forward, starts up at a brisk walk, then a slow jog herself. The two of them go at a moderate pace for awhile, stopping at each corner for the light until they hit a string of greens that lets them eat up the blocks.

Kate's arms are tense as she pushes the stroller in front of them, her calves burn with the extra weight. Every slight hill is a battle, but thankfully, they have a short ways to go. Riverside Drive borders the eastern edge of Riverside Park, and the dog run starts right at 87th. Alexis reaches Riverside first and they cross into the park, taking the trail north and parallel to the street.

Alexis brings up the paparazzi again. "Seriously, Kate. I don't think you need to feel like you owe them. It's Dad's spotlight, and he likes it. But I never have. And I know you don't either. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Believe me, I don't. I've said no a lot. But I have started to see all the good ways we can use that spotlight. And instead of working with it, I've been avoiding it. Like the marathon. Your dad wants to start a team from Black Pawn, for his literacy charity. I think maybe I ought to do that."

All Kate hears of Alexis is her measured breathing as they move from a jog to a slow run. Her shoulders start to ache.

"Maybe so." Alexis says finally. "I never thought of it like that before. It's just been a nuisance. It makes my dad into a strange, wild, party guy or something. Or it did. Until you."

Kate casts a glance over at Alexis, a little surprised, but she has nothing to say to that. She's actually a little breathless, running with the stroller. And she doesn't want to get into all that while they run.

"Think about doing the half marathon with us, Alexis," she says finally.

"Us?"

And then Kate laughs, a kind of evil laugh. "I'm making your dad do it too."


	20. Chapter 20

At the dog park, both of them out of breath, Kate wipes the sweat from her forehead and takes a sip of water from her bottle. Alexis is struggling with the straps on the stroller to let Dash loose, but the kid is straining so much that it makes the job almost impossible.

Kate should help, but she doesn't want to. She wants to stand here by the park bench, just off the path, and watch the trees, the people, the brilliant blue sky. Fill herself with it. A second of peace. If she joins Alexis in the fight, all the good endorphins from the run will get zapped. She has no problem recognizing that she's a better mom when she picks her battles, when she ignores a few things, when she takes the time to rebuild herself.

After their four mile run up the park path, Dash was very close to falling asleep: he got that drugged, drowsy look on his face, with eyelids that were heavy and a head that lolled against the back of the stroller. But as soon as they stopped and he caught sight of a dog sniffing at a clump of grass, he was ready to get out.

Alexis finally frees him, and Dash, in his haste, misses the foot rest and tumbles straight to the ground. He scrambles to his hands and knees and scuttles off, crab-like, towards the dog still intent on his scent. Apparently, he's fine.

"Dash. Be gentle," Kate warns.

Dash ignores her, of course, but he doesn't immediately maul the dog. It's a little one, a Corgi, and while Kate isn't stupid about letting someone like Dash get close to a strange animal with teeth, she thinks that a little dog with a little snapping bite might be just the thing to cure Dashiell of his manic obsession with dogs. Or maybe she needs to just give in and let Castle get them a dog.

Alexis follows along behind him anyway. The dog's owner appears, smiling, and walks casually over to Kate, suggesting that he's not afraid of the dog doing damage to a kid either. Kate relaxes, but tries to keep the stroller in sight. No gun, but she does have pepper spray at hand.

The man nods to Dash. "That's a good dog for him to pet."

"Thanks," Kate says. "He loves dogs." She doesn't offer anything else.

"We live in the neighborhood, and I take Chloe here all the time. She's good with the kids. When my daughter was little, she used to fawn all over Chloe."

"Your dog's name is Chloe?" She holds a conversation, but she's thinking about how stupid it is for this guy to be giving a stranger so much potentially damaging information: he has a daughter, he lives in the area, he comes all the time.

"Yeah. Chloe's well-trained." As the man speaks, Dashiell gets close to the dog, and Chloe immediately stops sniffing and sits instead, eyes only occasionally flicking to Dash.

"That's impressive. She'll just sit there like that and take it?"

"Yup." The man grins widely and calls out. "Good girl, Chloe. Hey kid, you can pet her."

Kate knows this is an invitation for her to tell the man Dash's name, but she won't do that either. A guy with a dog can be anything. Friend or foe. No way of knowing. Plus there's always the off chance that someone is digging for information for the press. It's happened before. Not to her, but she's not going to risk it with both Alexis and Dashiell with her. They are her responsibility.

She crosses her arms over her chest and watches the dog lay down, showing her belly to Dashiell. Dash goes in to grab her, and Alexis grabs him before he can mangle the thing. Kate hears her say, "Soft touch, bubba. Soft touch."

She smiles to herself. Alexis has remembered then; Kate hasn't even gotten a chance to remind the girl about not using their names when they're out like this. Of course, it's a weird and paranoid rule, so how often is Alexis going to forget something like that? But still, she's being careful.

The man smiles and crosses his arms to mimic Kate's stance. "Your daughter? She's good with him too. It must be great to have that kind of help."

She wants very badly to say, She's not my daughter, just to mess with the guy's head. But it's not true either. There's not a good way to explain what they are. So she doesn't try. Alexis is just. . .hers. Her responsibility, her partner's daughter, her son's sister. . .her daughter, her little sister, her family. There really isn't a good word for it. She's not sure even Castle could do it.

But she doesn't say any of this to the dog owner. She just smiles. "She's a big help, yes. He's got a lot of energy."

Kate likes taking Dashiell to the park; she really does. But she has been a detective for too long to see innocence in friendly strangers. Especially men on their own. She can't undo those experiences, so she's left with having to work around them so that her hang-ups don't affect her son's life.

Too much.

Chloe's tongue hangs out and Dashiell is giving her soft strokes up her belly in the wrong direction. Alexis keeps trying to show Dash how to pet the dog so that he's smoothing down the fur, but Dash doesn't seem to get it. Kate takes a handle of the stroller and pushes it closer; the dog owner follows.

Dog owner squats down next to Dash and says, "This is Chloe. What's your name?"

Alexis raises her eyes to Kate with an eyebrow arched delicately over her pale forehead. Kate gives a slight shake of her head, and Alexis keeps her mouth shut.

Dash looks at the man and then the dog and then back at Kate. "Momma! Oggie!"

"Yup, I told you we'd see some dogs."

The man seems to get the hint and stops asking, standing up again. He's still smiling politely, but he does bring out the leash and tap it against his thigh. Chloe hops up and comes to heel at his side.

"We've got to get going. You three have a nice day."

Kate nods. "You too."

Dog and owner trot off, leaving Dashiell crestfallen. Kate sighs. She's pretty sure her rudeness is the cause of their leaving, but she refuses to feel bad about it. "Hey baby, let's see if we can find some more dogs, okay? Or maybe we'll see some birds, or those beautiful blue butterflies?"

"Izards?" he asks, getting up off the ground to take her hand.

Surprised to have his hand at all, she starts walking towards the treeline. She gestures at the stroller and meets Alexis's eyes. "Lizards? I bet we can find them over there. By those big rocks."

Alexis grabs the stroller and follows after them as she and Dash explore the grass, the trees, the big rocks. Kate sips at her water, wishing for coffee, and tries to keep up a stream of comments aimed at keeping Dashiell distracted from the fact that there are no other dogs around this morning. She promised dogs, and if he figures out that he's been tricked, it won't be pretty.

Score one for paranoia, zero for mom.

* * *

><p>They really only get an hour from Dash before he's too wild to be managed. Kate has learned to let go of so much: she doesn't get worked up about him crawling through mud, picking up dead bugs, poking at worms, trying to eat grass, climbing anything taller than himself, pitching those small fits, talking to birds, crashing into trash cans or park benches, touching things that are hot, sticky, germy. . .<p>

Lots of things. She's been able to let those all go. But when he starts falling to the ground and sobbing like she's murdering him, she knows he's moved past manageable wildness and into the land of no return. Overly stimulated, overly tired, overly angry, overly Dash. . .Kate picks him up, doesn't try to talk him out of it, and puts him back in the stroller.

Even Alexis looks uncomfortable, but whether it's with her brother's tantrum or with the attention they receive, Kate doesn't know. Funny enough, when Alexis is with them, Kate feels less. . .on display. Less stupid. Less like a terrible mother. She doesn't know why that is either.

"Okay, baby, we're heading home. Say bye to the birds." _And the dog crap you tried to make mud pies out of,_ she thinks. _And the birds you chased off and cried after. And the lizard you accidentally crushed with a rock. And the dew you licked from the leaf before I could stop you, hope it wasn't poison ivy._

She rolls her eyes as she buckles him into the stroller. Dashiell's tears have smeared muddy tracks across his cheeks, but when Kate hands him his sippy cup of water, he pops it into his mouth like a pacifier and sucks it down. His hiccuping sobs are momentarily dulled.

Alexis crouches down next to the stroller too, reaches in to stroke the dark curls form his sweaty forehead. "Hey there, bubba. Why's everything such a drama for you, huh?"

Kate snorts. "Drama queen. Wow, your daddy would looove to hear that, huh, baby?"

"Daddeeee," Dashiell says, then sticks his cup back in his mouth.

"Yup. Daddy says you're bipolar," Kate grins. "But I think you're probably just like Daddy."

Alexis laughs, but there's a hesitance to it. "Do you think he really is?"

Kate sighs. "No. Yes. I don't know. A lot of people tell me he's totally normal. Just a boy. An intense little boy. Your dad says he's only ever raised a girl so he doesn't know." Kate gives Alexis a nudge with her shoulder. "I don't think you need to worry about Dash."

_That's my job._

"I don't think he's abnormal, Kate," Alexis says quietly. "I think all those people are right. He's got a lot of energy, but I think you treat him just right. No matter what anyone else says."

Kate reaches out and gives Alexis a short, hard hug. "You're a good kid."

"Dash is a good kid, too. He's just not easy."

Kate laughs. "Nope, not a bit easy."

"I wonder if my dad really was like this."

"Yeah, I'm going to say it's all Castle genes," Kate laughs.

"Hey now," Alexis warns, nudging her back with a shoulder. "Watch it."

"Oh, I think sissy just got offended," Kate says, making a face at Dashiell. "You're lucky you've got such a good sister. She's just about the only one who'll put up with you, kiddo."

"Is-sis," Dashiell agrees, holding his sippy cup out. Kate moves to take it, but Dashiell screeches. "Is-sis!"

Alexis reaches for it instead, laughing. "Ha. Dashiell is smarter than you think. He knows you've been talking about him."

"All right, all right," Kate mockingly grumbles. "Let's go home before you two gang up on me. And Alexis, you can help me figure out how to get your dad to do the half-marathon."

"I think pigs will fly first," Alexis says helpfully, pushing the sippy cup into the back of the stroller. "I'll push the stroller; you had him the whole run."

"All right. Let me zip the windscreen in here, maybe he'll fall asleep." Kate unfolds the clear plastic screen and zips it around the front of the stroller. Then they start off back down the path at a walk. "Think you can run another four miles back?"

"Sure. No problem," Alexis laughs. "But let me get used to this first." She shoves a little at the stroller, leans forward as they go up a slight rise in the path.

"You let me know when you want me to take over."

"I will," Alexis promises. "Don't worry. And Kate?"

"Yeah."

"You're a really good mom. For Dash. And for me too."


	21. Chapter 21

Castle has written another chapter and worked on his edits when the two girls and Dash explode into the loft, the boy shrieking with glee and Kate actually laughing. Rick's set up at the kitchen table to keep his posture straight (anymore than a day or two working in his comfy writing chair makes his spine curl), and he automatically saves his work and closes the laptop, then stands up to help put the stroller away.

"So how was the run?" he asks, and takes the jogging stroller from Kate, refolds it so he can get it in the hall closet while Alexis and Kate enthusiastically beam about their early morning exercise. He turns back around and spies sticky stuff all over Dashiell's mouth, even as Kate tries to clean him off with a wet wipe. "You guys stopped for ice cream?"

Kate actually blushes, meeting his eyes for a second, and goes back to wiping off Dash's face.

Alexis gushes, spilling the beans, of course, just like a good girl. "Kate suggested it. We stopped at Emack and Bolio's on Amsterdam."

"That's like. . .eight blocks from here."

Alexis leans in and gives him a hug, then produces, magically it seems like, a white bag from the pile of stuff on the floor of the entryway. "We got you some."

"Seriously. You ran to Emack's?"

"Yes. And then took a cab from there," Kate admits, flashing a sultry look at him that he totally doesn't get. Well, he gets it, yeah, but why? Why is she looking at him like she has plans for him, dirty, kinky plans? God, she *has* to stop looking at him like that in front of the children. "Too full to run after that. I had chocolate chip cookie dough. It was heavenly."

"I had brownie batter," Alexis admits. "And a scoop of cotton candy. It was sooo good."

"Cotton candy?" he asks, trying to distract himself from imagining Kate licking ice cream off a plastic spoon. But Kate letting cotton candy melt on her tongue is worse.

"Yeah. Cotton candy flavored ice cream. We got you mint chocolate chip though. And rocky road. Those are your favorites at Emack's right?" Alexis is pulling off her running shoes and socks, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "I'm gonna shower. And then I'm taking Dashiell to the club pool. Mom said it was okay."

All sexy thoughts fall right out of his head and he looks at Alexis, his almost grown-up daughter, then to his wife, Kate Beckett, _Detective Beckett, for goodness sake_, and _what did she just say?_

"Dad?"

Kate is looking at him, Dashiell has escaped her hold to wreak havoc out of their line of sight, and Alexis has stuffed her socks into her shoes, and is now waving a hand in front of his face. He snaps out of it, looks to his daughter, and nods. "Yeah. Pool is fine. Of course." They joined the neighborhood association a few years back so that Alexis could have a pool to train in, back when Alexis was certain she wanted to be an Olympic swimmer (was she twelve then?), and at the time, Rick was certain he would be using the weight room and the treadmills. Right. He does use the weight room some. Not often.

Alexis called her mom.

Alexis has darted off as well, leaving just him and Kate standing in the entryway. Well, Kate, technically, is still squatting down next to the spot Dash used to be in, the wet wipe smeared with ice cream in her hand, just looking at him. He almost can't breathe.

She stands up, tosses the wipe onto the pile of their stuff (keys, phones, a hat, water bottles, sippy cup, more wet wipes: jeez, there's so much _stuff_ for just a run), and steps hesitantly towards him. "Are you okay?"

He nods.

"I'm sorry. She asked. I didn't know what to say."

He shakes his head, tries to swallow past the dryness in his throat.

"If you don't want her to. . .if it's not okay, you have to tell her. I'm not telling her she can't call me mom-"

He reaches out blindly and pulls her into him for a tight, crushing hug. He can't not squeeze. He tries to breathe past the ache in his chest, he tries to let up a little, tries to back off. Can't.

She is hard and unbending against him. "Is it wrong? Maybe it's wrong. She has a mom, a real mom, and I don't want to damage-"

"God, shut up, Kate," he chokes out and squeezes her harder, like he wants to squeeze the words right out of her. He buries his head in her neck, her hair cloaking him, and takes a ragged breath. "Before I do something really unmanly, and sob like a baby."

She brings hesitant hands up to his head, touches his skull, then pulls her fingers through his hair. He finds the will to collect himself, takes in another shaky breath, and finally steps back. He knows she really doesn't like weepiness in him, knows that childishness ticks her off, but maybe he's allowed this little indulgence. She's just let Alexis call her mom, for goodness sake, so he gets a free pass, right?

"So it's okay?" she says, lifting her eyebrows at him.

And he sees, really sees, the insecurity behind her calm, the question behind her stoic face, the fear hidden behind her careful and graceful poise. How has he known and loved her this long and not seen it? He's been blind. She's asked him before if she's a good mother, and he thought it was half-joking, thought she was being self-deprecating, thought it was just that reaction Dashiell engenders in everyone. But it's not. She's truly afraid that she's not enough.

"It's great," he answers stupidly, unable to find the words. "Holy crap. . .Kate. It's. . ." He shrugs, laughs because this is probably the most important thing he could possibly say to her, ever in their relationship, and he's speechless. "You are extraordinary."

"You're starting to repeat yourself."

"I only borrow from the best," he smiles. Castle cups her face in his hands, strokes his thumbs along her cheekbones. "I mean it. I don't know how I got to be so lucky. And not only do you love me, you love my daughter, you love my son. . .and I can't. . ." He shakes his head, growls to fight past the choke of tears in his throat.

She's chewing on her bottom lip. "She said I was a good mom." She tosses her head a little, still trapped by his hands, closes her eyes before meeting his gaze again. "We were at Emack's and I suggested getting you some ice cream and she just. . .she said, Can I call you Mom? and Castle, I. . ." She wraps her hands around his, draws them down from her face. She's not crying (even though he's about to), but her eyes are suspiciously wet.

And then she freezes, all emotion wiped clean. "Oh, shit, Dashiell."

"What?" he asks, bewildered.

"It's too quiet." She jerks out of his grip and runs for the kitchen.

"Did you use a knife this morning?" he hollers after her, slower to react but coming up behind her now.

"Yes. Yes, shit. Yes."

Fuck. Not good. Really not good. Dashiell likes opening the dishwasher and getting stuff out. Using it. "Did you lock the dish washer?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

That probably means no. She's at the threshold of the kitchen, the center island blocks whatever view they might have, and she's rounding the corner near the dish washer, he's right behind her, his heart pounding-

He collides into her back, has to put a hand to the island, one on Kate to stop himself from tumbling. Looks down.

Dashiell has grabbed the knife out of the dishwasher. And the lid to a pot, and the wooden spoon and a coffee mug. He has specks of red down his shirt. Castle gasps.

But Kate is already rocketing forward, already has her fingers around Dash's wrist in that cop grip that immediately makes his hand go nerveless and his fingers relax. The knife drops and Castle scoops it up _why did she use a steak knife this morning anyway?_ and tosses it into the sink.

Dashiell is protesting, loudly, over his stolen toy and shrieking at them both. Castle hunches down to look at the boy's hand.

A few slices, a flap of skin loose on his pointer finger, but not a lot of blood. The red on his shirt is from the bowl he must've spilled toppling it from the dishwasher. Bowl of fruity pebbles Castle had this morning for breakfast.

"It was me," he admits, hitting his palm against his forehead. "I had breakfast after you left. Forgot to lock the dishwasher back."

Kate's still inspecting the wounds; she's gone quiet. Castle reaches over and begins collecting the other dishes, gives her a moment. Dashiell won't even need a band-aid, though he might love to have one anyway. He'll wash the kids hand off in the sink when they get ready for the pool. It should be fine.

"Alexis and I had bagels. I had to cut the bagels."

"This is not your fault," Rick says, dumps the dishes into the sink. "I forgot to lock it back."

"I should've used a regular knife."

"Kate." He grabs her shoulder, ignores the way Dashiell is yammering and straining towards the sink for his lost toys. "Kate, listen to me."

"I hear you," she says, and that unfocused look in her eye clears. "I know. It's not my fault. Or yours. It just. . .it's just how it is. I got distracted. I got caught up in how good it felt to have Alexis call me mom, and how good it felt to think I was doing something right, and I forgot about Dash."

"No," he hisses, and pulls her up, jerks her away from their son. "Don't you do this, Kate." He doesn't even know what he's asking her not to do, only that every encounter with their son seems to reinforce some twisted belief in her head, some idea that she doesn't measure up. It scares the shit out of him to see that in her face, to feel her crack a little each time something goes wrong. Like one day she'll break.

She shakes her head. "I'm okay."

"Alexis is taking him to the pool today. I bet you he half-drowns five times before an hour is up. She's a strong swimmer; she was a lifeguard last summer. Dash will be fine with her; she'll probably get him all worn out. I want you to stay home with me. Okay? Please. Stay here with me, let me write in bed with you. Like we did before he was born."

She lifts clear eyes to him, no trace of whatever it was that he caught a glimpse of earlier. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"I know you are. But I'm not. Please stay with me today."

She watches him for a sign of pity. Castle does his best to keep any thoughts that he might be coddling her, might be pampering her, out of his head and off his face. If she even suspected, for a second, that he was trying to fix her, repair her, heal her somehow, she would be off with Alexis and Dash trying to prove something she doesn't ever need to prove.

"Okay."

"Thank you," he whispers and wraps his arms around her. But he lets go quickly, keeping in mind how little she likes to be touched when she feels especially hurt, and glances back to the kitchen floor. Dashiell is yanking hard on the kitchen cabinets, trying to get at the stuff under the sink. It's baby-locked, of course, but Castle can imagine the thing breaking under the force of Dash's thwarted anger. "Dashiell, sissy's going to take you to the pool! Are you ready to swim?"

Dashiell is immediately distracted. He lets go of the cabinet door and claps both hands together. "Sin sin sin!"

Kate laughs, but it's a garbled and breathless sound that Castle really doesn't like to hear.

"That's right buddy, swim. You get to swim with Alexis today. She'll be right back down to take you, so let's get your swimming trunks on and all your pool toys. Huh, buddy?"

"Sin, sin." Dashiell uses both hands to push himself up to standing, then darts for Kate, colliding with her legs and tugging. "Carry you," he begs.

The thing in her eyes is back, but maybe a little mended, Rick thinks, watching her face soften as she leans over. "Sure, baby. Momma will carry you."

Once up, Dashiell wraps both arms around Kate's neck and gives her kisses by touching his open mouth to her cheek, looking pleased with himself. "Tiss, Momma."

"Thank you baby. I think Daddy needs a kiss too." Kate turns towards him, and this time there's an apology on her face. Shame. For falling apart a little bit.

Castle leans in and lets Dashiell repeat the open-mouthed slobber routine, then kisses him back. "That was a great kiss, thanks Dash. Now it's my turn." He grabs Kate by the elbow and plants a kiss on her as well, slow and just as wet. When he breaks free, there's peace again in her eyes. "Kiss, Kate."

She smiles at him, long and slow, the light coming back into her face. "Thank you."

He drops another one to her lips, softly, and grins back. "So Alexis wants to call you mom. I think that's perfect."

"If-ict!" Dashiell shrieks. "If-ict, if-ict!"

This time, they both laugh. And his chest eases a little.


	22. Chapter 22

**thank you to all my readers and the wonderful comments you've made. this is not the end, but it is a pause as I leave tomorrow morning for a three day trip. I won't have access to the internet, so I appreciate your patience. when I get home, I will try my best to post the next chapter quickly.**

* * *

><p>He likes days like this best.<p>

It's like living in a cologne commercial; all it lacks is a black and white filter and some summery breeze coming in through the window. Of course, Rick himself isn't exactly the cologne model type (he has less a sick pack and more a keg) but Kate is all thin bones and stark cheeks and too-dark eyes. She makes him hurt, good and bad, as she lays on her back in the sunlight, her tshirt rising up to reveal a thin line of creamy skin, her eyes half closed, fingers slightly curled into her palms, her lips parted just slightly.

He loves to see the edge of her canine teeth through her lips. Those two crooked teeth are the reason she tries to smile with her mouth closed so much of the time. A little self-conscious. When he kisses her, he likes to run his tongue over her teeth and then soothe the two bumps on the inside of her top lip, where those two teeth have repeatedly bitten through the skin. He likes to nibble there, and pull her lip into his mouth and know this is something about herself she's not comfortable with but which she lets him have anyway.

Those two crooked teeth remind him she's human. Yes, she's his muse, but she's not a goddess who deigns to visit a mortal man for brief, unfulfilling encounters that leave him only wretched and struck dumb. She's an earth-bound muse, a woman, flawed but beautiful, able to bleed and weep with him, willing to partner with him in this one life every step of the way. She's not immortal, but, damn, right now she looks it.

They have a big bed, a wide bed, because he likes to spend money on her and she doesn't like to touch, but she's sprawled practically lengthwise so that every strip of skin is touched by light. She's got her head propped up on his right shin as he writes, her still wet and clinging to his leg.

He expected that they'd make love the second Dash and Alexis were out the door, but instead, Kate took a shower. He realizes now, too late, that the look she threw over her shoulder as she stripped off her shirt meant, _come after me,_ and not, as he first thought, _hands off_. He's always been bad at reading women's _I'm saying one thing but meaning another,_ and Kate is no exception. (Sometimes they mean it, and sometimes they don't, and he wishes that just once, Kate would say 'Today is opposite day' and stick to it, so that he'd know, for goodness sake, what he was supposed to be doing or saying.)

How did he figure it out? Oh, well, when she came out of the shower, her hair wet and curly, in a small tshirt and soft cotton pajama shorts, he saw the flicker of betrayal on her face when she saw him propped up in bed writing. He's seen that face in women before, he knows it means, _oh you were doing that, I should've known_ and he knows that when it gets to the resigned face, quickly on its heels is the bitter face, the face even Gina (his own publisher) had for most of their marriage. As if a naked woman in a shower is supposed to trump the hunger in his bones to write, *to write*, to get it all out before it vanishes.

Well, okay, it is supposed to. A naked woman who wants you definitely trumps a story. Problem is, mix in a little of Castle's particularly dense understanding of the way women, no, strike that, the way *Kate* works, the signals she sends when she is actually sending signals and not just seriously pissed at him, then well, rejection mingling with desire creates the beast that slaves away at the keyboard, fingers teasing out words and scenes instead of her.

So.

He's writing his novel while she ponders some mystery of the universe, if that furrowed brow is any indication of the state of her mind right now. The problem is, every issue they run up against, every fight they have, every shudder of sorrow in her body, every glimpse of sorrow in her eyes, builds up in him. Like gasoline. Like fuel. He feeds on it. The beast eats its way through a mother's murder, a training officer's betrayal, a partner's dying wish. The beast devours tragedy whole, licks its lips, and regurgitates the contents onto the page.

Nikki Heat is Kate Beckett's life all mashed up and diced and sprinkled with seasoning, then served to an eager and adoring audience who read the chapters almost faster than he can write them. Like a dog returns to its vomit, so will a fool. . .

He is a fool. He doesn't know how to change it.

He remembers Meredith mouthing off to a reporter one time that all of Richard Castle's loved ones had better watch it, because their whole lives would end up sliced to ribbons and buried in a novel, prey to the particular sword he wielded. Meredith, while not known for her astounding insight, was still correct. Rick remembers the look on Gina's face when one of her more troubling insecurities wound up in Hell Hath No Fury. When the people he loves find pieces of their hearts scattered in the pages of his latest bestseller, it's not always easy to take. They don't always stick around to find out what he means by it, or what he's learned.

He can't help it. This is what he is.

So Nikki Heat battles her insecurities as she fights to save Jameson Rook's life; the successful conclusion of which will, of course, not bring about the same emotional evolution and character development in his readers, but it will be pretty damn close. Close enough to fake, if they want to.

He's got the scene as close as he can to the feeling he has in his head, the feeling that washed over him when he and Kate stood in the kitchen and battled for control over something he still, still, can't name or explain. The key to her heart? That sounds both corny and cliche, totally not acceptable for a writer of his caliber, and yet it's the only thing he can find that even begins to do service to that experience. Will Castle keep letting Kate tell herself she's not good enough? Or will he convince her that she's all and everything he wants?

Damn that's good. Even Nikki Heat knows it's good. She's shivering. Castle himself is pleased with the way that chapter closed out, and he feels that delicious sense of being at peace again, balanced. In harmony with his god and his muse.

He looks up and discovers that Kate is watching him, her head turned towards his, her eyes slitted but open. Still propped against his leg, she's brought one arm up to let her hand cup his foot (how did he not notice that?), and her lips are slightly parted as she studies him.

"You look happy," she says, and she sounds surprised.

He nods. "Yeah. I am. You make me happy."

She shakes her head against his knee cap and he can hear the grind of her skull against his shinbone. He winces.

"No, I mean. It's different when you write. You look. . .at ease."

"Yeah. Life is unbelievably good when your wife is both brilliant and sexy as hell, and she loves you despite getting a wild banshee of a child on her. So yeah, I'm at ease."

She smirks, but rolls over on her belly to prop her chin on her hand, her knees bent and feet waving in the air in one of the most un-Beckett-like positions he's ever seen.

"Well, thank you, I think, but that's not what I mean. There's something else there, in you, when you finish something you like." She lifts up and slinks towards him, sinking down to sit on her feet and watch him for a moment. "Tell me what it's like, Rick. What does that feel like? When you get the idea in your head and you have to write."

Holy shit. How does she do this to him? One minute he's grimly predicting the fate of their relationship, its movement from _come here_ to _not you again_, when she turns everything upside down and makes herself at home in him.

She's his muse; she's his amazing, earthly muse.

"There it is again," she murmurs and leans forward to touch the side of his face, looking in his eyes like she can read the secret there.

He has to say something before she completely undoes him. "Sometimes all I have to do is look at you, and I know what has to be done. You make words in my head, and they burn, and I need to put them down in the right place, in the right order, for it to be right. For it to work, for it to catch the paper and not me. Sometimes there are just too many words."

She drops her hand and watches him; he sees hunger in her face. He has forgotten (until just now) that he is one of her favorite authors. He's forgotten that his books got her through some of her darkest days. Forgotten that she must have stood in line for his autograph because one of her Castle books is signed. It makes him nervous and hopeful at the same time. He wants, all of a sudden, for her to like him.

"Sometimes there aren't words at all, just this feeling in me, this feeling that has to get out. I have to make it happen on the page too, like it happened here. To explain, to understand, to. . .I don't know. I don't know, Kate. I'm not any good saying things out loud. Give me a blank sheet of paper and 800 words and I'll do it, but I can't look at your face and tell you what you do to me."

Stunned. Beautiful. Her hand trembles when she puts it against his chest. He crushes it in his own, but doesn't reach for more.

"What *I* do to you? Or what writing does to you?" she says.

He blinks. Opens his mouth and closes it again. He knows the truth, but doesn't know if she wants to hear it. Can't help it. "They're the same," he admits. "Different, but the same."

He waits a moment, waiting for the shame to wash over him. But when he lifts his head, she's smiling. Huh. She seems okay with that. She studies his face again, tugs her hand out from under his to drop it in her lap. "Then some day, Castle, I want you to sit down and write it for me. Explain. Maybe I'll get it."

She doesn't get it. His heart trips, stumbles.

"Because I don't understand why you do this to me, either," she admits, drawing forward to slide a hip against his, leaning her chest against his. When her cheek hits his shoulder, she sighs. "I don't understand it. I've stopped fighting it, most of the time. And you're right; I can't look at your face and tell you what you do to me."

He's lost. He took a wrong turn somewhere in this conversation because it sounds like she's confessing something. "What?"

She's silent for a long, long time. So long that he puts both arms around her and gives up on ever knowing what she means, puts his cheek to the top of her head and takes a long breath of vanilla and coconut. But then Kate sighs. "You said I put words in your head. But, Castle, you make me speechless."


	23. Chapter 23

Kate is ready.

When she opens the door and gets on the elevator, when she walks out into the lobby, when she spots Alexis's brilliant hair down the sidewalk, Kate is ready.

Alexis texted a few minutes ago to let them know the trip to the pool was getting cut short due to an accident. A Dash accident. Nothing life threatening, no tears, but the neighborhood association has strict rules about open wounds in the pool. Makes sense. So they are coming home.

Kate is ready. She spent an hour in bed with Castle as he wrote a chapter of his Nikki Heat novel, alternating between watching him intently and dozing off. She likes the way he squints at the screen when he finds a typo, and the way he mutters to himself when he can't get the sentence exactly right. She enjoys the absent-minded way he rubs a hand down her leg as he reads over a section, enjoys closing her eyes and feeling the heavy weight of her body against the sheets as she listens to the keys click on the laptop.

It helps. Somehow. It helps to share silence with Castle, to be nothing other than in his bed, sleepy and warm, able to think and daydream. She realizes she's spent most of that time trying to figure out words to express something that has no form, what love and. . .and. . .

She sighs.

It's not even noon; they will have to figure out a new way to keep Dash entertained and out of Castle's hair so he can write.

The doorman holds the front doors open for Alexis and Dash, the two of them trudging in together, Dashiell's eyes bright with temper, his cheeks flushed. Kate sees the gash immediately, a laceration across his left cheek, parallel to his ear, ending at the corner of his eye. He still has a bruise on his thick head from yesterday, and now a battle scar from the pool.

"Hey guys, how was the pool?" she says, giving Alexis a smile.

Alexis looks disappointed with their defeat, almost as much as Dash. "Fun until the wild thing ran into the ladder and fell in."

"Pool! now!" Dashiell whines, coming up to Kate to clutch at her pants, tugging. "Now, now, now."

Kate touches the weeping end of the cut on his face; Dashiell shies back and glares at her. "Does it hurt, Dashiell?"

He ignores her question and turns back to Alexis, running to her legs to cling. "Pool, pease? pease? Is-sis, pease?"

"We can't swim anymore, Dash. They kick you out if you break the rules, remember?"

"Was he running?" Kate asks and takes the bag from Alexis's shoulder.

"Yeah. Full tilt around the edge. And then wham! straight into the side of the ladder, and you know how the top of the rail is squared off, not round?so it caught the corner of his eye and cut him as he fell. I think anyway. It happened so fast. I'm sorry." Alexis leans over and scoops up her brother, carrying him towards the elevator after Kate.

Dashiell wriggles to get down, seemingly unfazed by the gash in his cheek. He runs over and pushes the button for the elevator, crowing about it, distracted from the defeat of the pool.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Alexis. We kinda expected this."

"Yeah, but I still feel bad about it. I thought we'd be there for a few hours, let Dad write. Let you have a break."

Kate rolls her eyes. "I don't need a break. I've been alone with Dash for only a day and a half!"

"Still, you had him all day yesterday at the Aquarium. Anyone would need a break after that," Alexis insists, stepping onto the elevator after her brother. "Plus I like getting some time with him, just the two of us."

Kate smiles over at Alexis and reaches out to give her a quick hug as the elevator goes up. "You're a good sister."

When the doors slide open, Dashiell heads down the hall as fast as his little legs will take him, still yelling about pushing the button and chanting a song that might be about counting. Kate can't quite tell, since it's mostly baby talk. She follows behind him, Alexis bringing up the rear, and pushes open the door.

Castle looks up from his spot on the couch, fingers poised over the keys and gives a low whistle. "Dashiell, you really did a number on your face, my man."

Dashiell beams proudly at his father and rockets forward, arms outstretched. Castle shoves away his laptop and picks him up just as he jumps then wrestles the boy into his lap.

"I might put some neosporin on that cut," Kate calls out to him, dropping the bag in the hallway.

"I'm going to take a shower," Alexis says, heading towards the stairs.

"Will you throw down the antibiotic cream before you get in?" Kate says, gesturing towards the upstairs bathroom.

"Sure."

Kate turns back to the living room and the two boys growling at each other on the couch. "So that's a bust. Now what?"

Castle grins at Dash's struggling attempt to break free of his father's hold. "Just let him play out here in the living room. I need to write at my desk anyway; my back is killing me."

"But he's loud out here," Kate warns, leaning a hip against the back of the couch.

Castle has both legs clamped around Dash's body as the boy tries to squirm away, grunting with the effort. "Yeah, he's loud, but he mostly entertains himself. I've got tunnel vision when it comes to the book, Kate; I can write through a tornado if I have to."

Alexis calls out from the stairs; Kate heads takes a few quick steps back to the entryway and catches the tube of antibiotic ointment. "Thanks, Alexis."

"Hey, monkey, settle down. Let mommy put some medicine on your cut," Castle says, reaching down to hoist Dashiell back up onto the couch.

Kate steps past him and sits on the coffee table, unscrewing the cap and squeezing some out on her finger. "Almost out. I need to remember to get more."

Castle laughs and pins Dashiell to the couch with an arm. "That's the third tube we've bought. I don't think I'd ever used up even one tube of that stuff before Dash."

"There's a lot of things I didn't do before Dash," Kate grins back at him. "But yeah. Kid is accident prone." She smears the cream over the wound on his cheek, surprised that it's still bleeding right below his eye. "Aren't you, baby? You get banged up more than anyone I know."

"Up, up!" he agrees, twisting his face away from her. Dash's cheek smears against the couch and he howls as the fabric catches his skin. "No, no, momma!"

"Stop struggling, son," Castle warns, clamping a hand on the boy's neck and squeezing while Kate tries to pick lint out of the neosporin.

"Dash, you're just making it worse. Stop." Kate has his chin between her fingers to keep his head still; he purses his lips and lets out another pitiful-sounding wail.

Wordless, she and Castle hold him down until she's got the wound clean again, then reapplies the cream. They let him go and he bolts off the couch to hide under the coffee table, scrambling between Kate's legs to get there. She ducks her head to look at him, amused.

"Better now?"

"Trains!"

"Get them yourself," she says and lifts her head to see Castle on the couch, an eyebrow lifted in amusement. "Don't judge me."

He laughs and tugs her by the hand to sit with him. "Never. Watch." He puts a finger to his lips and draws his legs up onto the couch, pulling her feet up as well. Now that Dashiell can't see their legs, his screeches quiet. After a few moments, he crawls out from under the coffee table and picks through the toys in his basket next to the tv. He grabs a couple trains and scampers back to his hiding place.

Kate shakes her head. "He's a piece of work."

"Definitely."

"His cheek was still bleeding though. Did you get a chance to look at it?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think he needs stitches?"

Castle shrugs. "Probably not. It wasn't gushing blood."

"Not gushing, no. But if it's still bleeding by lunch time, I'm going to take him to the ER."

"Naw, don't do that," Castle says, squeezing her knee. "I'll call Gary. He'll stitch Dash up."

"Gary your plastic surgeon friend?" Kate says, pulling her knees away from his roaming hands.

"Yeah, he won't mind."

"We don't need a plastic surgeon," she grumbles. "Just an ordinary ER doc."

"It'll take forever though. Gary won't mind, really. He stitched up my thumb when I sliced it a few years back."

She gives him a look, but sighs and abandons the issue. "Fine. Now get to work, Castle. Stop wasting time." She shoves his shoulder and he tumbles to the side, giving her a glare.

"Slave driver," he grumbles.


	24. Chapter 24

Castle does some internet searching instead of writing. He's hit a lull in the novel, really, a place where his mind has reached contentment but the book isn't yet finished. It happens to him when he knows the resolution of the A plot but doesn't yet know the resolution of the B plot. He's written the killer's arrest into the next to last chapter, has managed to outline the chapters leading up to that, but he still doesn't know about Rook and Nikki, about the B plot.

He can't figure out what the hang-up is with these two. Just confess you love him and deal with it, he thinks. Of course, having Nikki Heat admit that she's in love with Jameson Rook would ruin the anticipation; it would undo all of their delicious tension. He's built the series on solid mystery and tantalizing romance, and he knows that getting those two together in any permanent way might end this latest string of bestsellers.

It's too bad. Nikki will most likely be forever denied the closure and contentment that she craves. This makes Rick feel sorry for her, in a way that's frighteningly real.

So he's surfing the internet because he doesn't want to face her, and because he still thinks, somewhere in the back of his head, that giving Kate nice things will make up for all he's taken. As if Kate and Nikki are the same. He knows they're not. But still.

He's not shopping. Well, he started out window shopping for Nikki. He went to Victoria's Secret's website and scrolled through the lingerie section looking for inspiration to write the teasing, build-up scene of his B plot, the Jameson-Nikki debacle, but he started envisioning that navy lace on Kate, of course, (he always does) and then somehow he discovered the Major League Baseball line of VS items: shirts, underwear, some sweatpants. And that reminded him of when Kate briefly met Joe Torre ("Joe freakin Torre") and so now he's at the Yankees site checking out the stats.

Wow. Boston has owned them this year. He's not entirely surprised; they have some ace pitchers on staff. But tonight's game-

And then it occurs to him that Dashiell has never been to a Yankees game, despite his entire room being patterned after those famous pinstripes. And Kate. Holy crap, how has he *not* taken her to a Yankees game yet? She still checks the scores in the paper at the precinct every morning, still catches the game with the boys in the break room if it's on, still mentions from time to time those games with her father.

He knows she loves the team. He's teased her about Nick Swisher, the cute outfielder that all the women adore. She can rattle off batting averages and team leaders and ERAs with the best of them. She reads box scores like mystery novels. Why has he not taken her to a game?

Obviously, this is a huge mistake he will have to correct immediately.

Tonight's game is a 7:05 start at Yankee Stadium against the Cleveland Indians (who are good this year), and it's only 10:30 now. Plenty of time. He clicks through to the online ticket sales, scans the availability, and decides that the upper heavens isn't good enough for Kate. Or for Dashiell, who has never been to a game and might actually love it. The more he thinks about it, the more he's certain that Dashiell will run him ragged in the Hall while Kate watches the game.

Oh. And here's another issue: would Kate rather sit with the crowd or in the premium lounges?

He's a snob; he doesn't mind admitting it. He will pay thousands for the premium seating options rather than cram himself into one of those tiny stadium seats just so a drunken Jersey boy can spill beer down his back. And the language. If Dashiell hears those foul-mouthed fans in the bleachers at right field, Rick will never have enough soap to wash the boy's mouth out. And Kate will be so not happy with that.

Heh. But it would be funny as hell if Dash-

No. Not funny. He's the father here.

Rick clicks through the stadium guide, searching for seating options that will somehow be a compromise between a private lounge and bleacher seats. The game is close to being sold out already, and all the good tickets behind home plate or along the home dugout have been bought long ago. Then there's the Legends Suites that he probably could get tickets to through friends. Patterson or somebody has them.

Ah. Well. Black Pawn has season tickets. A box? A section? He can't remember, but he does know that Gina can get them.

And why the hell doesn't *he* have season tickets? He'll remedy that. Actually, when they go tonight, he'll try to ferret out just exactly Kate's preference of seating, as subtly as he can, and then he'll get season tickets for next year and give them to her on her birthday. Rick mentally high-fives himself, fist pumps as he picks up the phone, and congratulates himself on another excellent idea.

Thoughtful but not sappy. Perfect for Kate.

He calls Gina.

* * *

><p>When Kate walks in on the last of his phone call with a juice box in hand, she looks pissed. He makes nice for a little bit more, then tells Gina to messenger over the tickets when she gets them. He hangs up while Kate glares at him.<p>

"Uh. Hi?"

She puts the juice box down on his desk, sits down. "What are you doing?"

"Making a phone call to my publisher," he says calmly, knowing that while it's not a lie, he's suggesting it has to do with the book when it doesn't.

"Oh." She pokes the juice box with a finger. "What is this?"

"Uh. A juice box? Why am I in trouble here?" He slowly moves his finger on the trackpad and clicks the Yankees website closed, his eyes never leaving her face.

"This isn't a juice box, Castle. This is pure sugar. Are you crazy? I told you to get the apple juice or the V8-"

"That wasn't me! It was Linda!"

"You made Linda do our grocery shopping?" She stands up, stalks around the desk to glare at him up close and personal. He's glad he's closed out of the website. "She's not supposed to be doing the groceries." Linda was one of those hard-luck cases that they ran into during a murder investigation; Castle had begged her to help the woman and this is what they'd come up with. "Rick, we talked about this."

Ooh, first name. Not good. "Sorry? I'm not sure why you're mad at me."

"Because I just gave my already-hyper son a juice box that has 40 grams of sugar in it. I wanted you to get the natural stuff-"

He snags the belt loop of her jeans and tugs her off-balance, making her stop. "Hold on. First of all, the no sugar added stuff still has fruit sugars in it and those have just as much as the Hi-C drink boxes. And Hi-C adds Vitamin C to their juice, so it's not like he's not getting good stuff."

She unhooks his finger and glares back. "Seriously. You're going to fight me on this?"

"No." He feels completely inadequate to the conversation sitting down at his desk, so he pushes back and stands up. "Yes, maybe I am. You're being ridiculous. Don't give him juice when he's bouncing off the walls, Kate. Make him drink water or milk. That's what I do."

Something flickers darkly in her eyes and she steps back. "Fine."

He watches her leave the study, hands on his hips, and tries to figure out what he's done now. She came in ticked off, but not angry. And now she left angry. At him specifically. Was it because he often gets Linda, the housekeeper, to run errands for him on her way in to work? He pays Linda very well because Linda does a good job. Of course, Kate doesn't know that because Kate refuses to talk about finances with him.

And yeah, it's starting to annoy the crap out of him. Has been annoying him. It's a thing. He sees that now. All right, so one more thing to add to the list of conversations he's eventually going to have to man up and have with her.

Maybe a baseball game tonight isn't the best. . .

Or maybe it's a way to get back on her good side and then bring up some of this stuff later. She's trying now, isn't she? This week off from work so that he can get his novel written definitely proves that Kate is adjusting her priorities. Throughout their marriage he's gone with the idea that he's got to let her ease into it, and that's worked so far. He hasn't pushed the money stuff, but there are things she needs to know. Just in case something happens to him. In case something happens to *her* as well.

Baseball game it is.

And then he'll make her talk about money. Since he's got her here for the rest of the weekend.

First. The novel. He needs to make this time count, or he won't be able to convince her to go tonight.


	25. Chapter 25

"Flowers. I need some flowers. Be right back."

And then Castle, keys and phone in hand, walks out the door.

Kate, sitting in the middle of the living room, tv blaring some singing show on Noggin, hands cupped before her as Dashiell deposits legos in them one by one, turns bewildered eyes to Alexis. "Is he always like this?"

"Dad?"

"When he writes. Is it always like this?" Kate gestures towards the door with her chin, hands full of the Duplo toddler Legos.

Alexis, reading a book in the easy chair, glances up at Kate with a smile. "You mean like Dash? Kinda ADD and random?"

Kate laughs, her shoulders shaking so that it dislodges a couple of lego bricks. "Yeah, I guess like that."

Dashiell grunts at her and picks up the two red bricks that have fallen, then drops them in his mother's hands again. "No laugh, Momma."

"Right," she says, making her face serious. "I'm ready."

Dash runs back to his legos and brings more to her, building a pile in her cupped hands.

"Why does he need flowers?"

Alexis looks up again, the absorption slow to disappear from her face.

Kate sighs. "Sorry, go back to your book."

"No, no, it's okay." Alexis sits up, puts her thumb between the pages to mark her place. "Flowers. Oh right, is that where he said he was going?"

"Yeah. He said he needed flowers. What does that mean?"

"Sometimes it gets to him. The story does. He gets wrapped up in it, can't get out. So he'll go run errands to take his mind off it."

"You mean the murders in his book."

Alexis nods. "Yeah. He'll get stuck because he gets so bogged down in it. He used to-"

"Used to what?" Kate pulls her hands up against her chest to keep the legos from falling. Dashiell runs back and forth between his legos in the floor and the pile in her hands, dropping them one by one. When Alexis says nothing, Kate glances up at her. The girl hasn't gone back to her book, but she looks hesitant to speak. "Used to what, Alexis?"

"Ah. Well, before he saw it up close, with you I mean, he didn't use to have this problem."

Problem. The problem of getting too deep in death that he has to go run out and buy flowers. "Oh."

"But don't, I mean, don't take that the wrong way, Kate." Alexis drops the book on the coffee table and gets down on the floor next to Kate. "Mom." She gives her a half-smile and holds out her hands as Dashiell approaches with more legos. Her brother looks overjoyed and dumps his legos into her hands. "I mean, Dad isn't scarred for life you know. He just. . .gets into it. I don't know."

He gets into it. Kate glances down at her son, watches him for a moment, then back to the door.

Alexis touches her arm. "Really, it's not a big deal. It's nothing. He doesn't have nightmares or terrible bouts of depression, you know. He just writes it out."

Kate catches her breath, bites her bottom lip. Alexis is sweet, trying to make her feel better. But Kate knows. He does have nightmares. She's been the one to wake up to his hoarse shout in the middle of the night; he always wakes himself up, but he doesn't always tell her what they're about.

Alexis slides next to her, sitting close, and bumps shoulders with her. "Hey."

Kate glances over at her, this girl, her step-daughter, innocent and young and so joyful. "Hey."

"You okay?"

Kate nods.

"You don't look it."

"Sorry. Just thinking." Kate gives her a brief smile, trying to echo the guileless eyes and the wide grin of the young woman beside her.

"I didn't mean to make you upset," she says softly. "Please don't be upset. Dad loves you, you know. He wouldn't change a thing. Not working with you, not seeing the things he's seen. Not any of it."

Kate takes in a deep breath, watches her son pour legos into Alexis's hands, then run back to the bucket and get more. "I know that. I just never thought."

"Never thought what?"

Kate shrugs. She can't put a voice to it. Castle brings so much relief to the darkness of her job, so much laughter and light. And what does she bring him?

Just one step closer to all that darkness, face to face with evil. So much so, he has to run out in the middle of a sunny day and buy flowers.

* * *

><p>"Why's it so dark in here?" It's the first thing he's said since walking back through the door.<p>

She watches him cut flowers at the island counter, his hands steady, until she thinks she can speak without sounding like her world is falling apart, just a little. He brought home Gerber daisies, yellow and orange, and he cuts their stems haphazardly, sticks them into blue glass beer bottles. Five bottles for ten flowers.

"Dash had a meltdown," she answers, and is relieved that her voice sounds normal.

He glances up, fingers around the neck of a bottle. "Yeah?"

"He hit his sister. When I told him not to hit, he hit me. So he got timeout. I put him on one of the couch cushions in the floor beneath the bar."

Castle glances down, then to the closed blinds. "The light from the kitchen window," he says softly.

She nods. "He freaked. He was sobbing. Before I put him in timeout, he was just angry, and having a tantrum, but the second the sunlight was in his eyes, he was. . ." She sighs.

"Meltdown," Castle supplies, sighing too, his fingers around the bottle.

"Meltdown. The second I closed the blinds, he was fine again. A little teary, but he calmed down right away. He's under the coffee table now, playing with legos."

Castle picks up a bottle of Gerber daisies and hands it to her. She has to take it before it drops. "Happy Mother's Day."

She blinks. "It's not Mother's Day."

"That was sarcasm, Kate. And no, it's not Mother's Day, but you definitely deserve flowers. Every day." He holds up another bottle of flowers and clinks it with her own, as if in salute. "And that's not sarcasm. Good call, Kate."

She glances over to the closed blinds and sighs. "What kind of kid doesn't like the light?"

She feels his hand tight on her hip, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and glances back to him, startled.

He looks intent. A little hurt. "He's fine. There's nothing wrong with being a little light sensitive. It doesn't make him an evil kid, a bad kid."

"Did I say that?" she asks, knocking his hand away from her hip, putting the bottle on the counter.

"Sounded like it," he growls. "Sounded like you think-"

He pauses, apparently rethinking his next statement, _good_, and sets down his bottle next to the other four, taking a deep breath.

"What the hell was that, Castle?"

He waves her off, and Kate watches as he turns around to clean up the mess of cut stems and stripped leaves. He wraps the remnants back in the wet yellow paper the flowers came in and dumps them all in the trash. He puts the scissors in the drawer, wipes his hand over the counter.

Kate is still waiting.

When he turns back around, his face is bleak. "It was nothing. Just. You're right. What kind of kid doesn't like the light?"

God, it sounds so sour coming out of his mouth. So wrong. "That's not funny."

"I'm not laughing."

She wants to hit him for being a bastard. "Why are you being so morose? What's the deal? This have something to do with you buying flowers at eleven thirty in the morning?"

Kate wants him to say no. Wants him to laugh it off and grin at her, make a wise-ass comment and try to get her to crack a smile. She wants him to be him, not this moody thing who talks in riddles. It's like looking in a freaking mirror. And it's annoying. She doesn't like seeing so much of herself in him.

And it's scary. He steps closer.

"It's okay, right?" He's wrapping both his arms around her and pulling her in tight before she even has the chance to process this. "We love each other, we love Dash. It's okay."

Her heart clenches. "Yes. It's fine. It's okay." She hugs him back, fiercely, an arm around his neck to pull him down to her. "You don't have to doubt me." Her chest aches.

"I don't," he whispers, his lips at her neck. "I don't. It's not you."

Then what is it? What *is* it? She thinks it's worse not knowing what has him like this, worse than thinking he still wonders about her. And it makes her angry. It pisses her off.

"Man up, Castle." She squeezes the back of his neck, pulls his head up. She doesn't let go of him, even though maybe a few months ago she might have stepped away entirely. She knows better now, or she's just scared enough by his breakdown to think maybe he really does need some support. "Get ahold of yourself."

"Yeah," he murmurs and scrubs his hands down his face. "Just got too. . .too caught up in murder."

"The book." If she sounds doubtful, it's because she is. She's never seen him fall apart because of a real murderer, let alone one of his own creations. Suddenly, she's really glad that Alexis went upstairs to her room to read in better light.

"The book," he confirms. "I bought some flowers. It helped a little, but when I got home, it was so dark. And then you told me about Dash, and it was like. . .all this darkness creeping in. I can't. . .I'm okay now. I'm good."

She lets go of him; he lets go. That's a good sign. "It really got to you."

"He's a nasty little murderer. I scare myself silly sometimes."

"What happens to Nikki?" she says softly. She knows. In the first book, when Nikki gets brutally attacked in her apartment, she remembers the way he hovered over her for days, asking about the locks on her door, how far off the ground her window was, how up to code her fire escape. He seemed thrilled when she said the fire escape was rusting through in places and probably wouldn't hold her own weight. She'd been confused by his relief at the time, but after she read the book, it all clicked into place. "Castle, what did you do to Nikki?"

"Nothing. It wasn't me. It was him."

The way he says 'him' makes her shiver. His books are. . .intense. They always are. Nikki's attack in the apartment still makes her nervous when she re-reads it. And she already knows how it ends. He's just that good of a writer. She never bothered to consider what it might do to him.

"What does *he* do to Nikki?"

Castle wraps his hand around a bottle of flowers and moves it in line with the others. Five blue bottles with orange and yellow sunshine on top. Bright and cheerful in the darkness of their kitchen.

"Castle."

"He cuts her up a little bit." There's more he won't say; she can see it on his face. He knows that she doesn't like to read the proofs, the first drafts, that she hates spoilers. Unlike Alexis, she doesn't read the end of a mystery first. She loves the thrill, the tension. He doesn't want to give it away. And that's sweet. But.

"But she's okay." It's not a question. Of course Nikki Heat is okay.

"She's going to make it."

"You haven't written her escape?"

"It's outlined."

"But not written."

"Not yet," he admits, and his eyes dart over to hers. "Will you sit with me while I write it?"

Is he serious?

He's serious.

"Alexis!" she yells, making him flinch. Kate heads over to the bottom of the stairs, seeing her step daughter come to the railing. "Alexis, will you watch Dashiell down here while I baby-sit your father?"

"Uh, sure." Alexis looks between them, a half-amused smile on her face, but starts down the stairs, book in hand. "Where is Dash?"

"Under the coffee table. Leave the lights off, if you don't mind."

"Yeah, I get it. No worries."

Kate heads back into the kitchen and snags Castle by the belt loop, grabs one of the bottles of flowers, and starts tugging him after her, leading him back towards his study. "So write."

"Kate?"

"Write Nikki free. You'll feel better."

"I don't know how she gets free yet."

"You'll figure it out. Sit down and write." She shoves him towards his chair, plops the flowers on his desk, and sits in the window seat herself, pulling her legs up.

He sits down, pushes open his laptop, and blinks at her. He opens his mouth. "Dash-"

"You need to write, Castle. Get Nikki free, then we'll talk about our son."


	26. Chapter 26

He taps his fingers against the laptop, glances over at Kate sitting in the windowseat. Her head is tilted back, her eyes half-closed as she stares down at the sidewalk and street below. He wonders what she sees, what she thinks. He wants to touch her, brush his fingers over her skin. He needs to bring something of her into himself-

"Write, Castle."

He jerks, meets her eyes with a blush, and glances back at the empty page. "I don't know what to say." He stands up and moves to join her at the window.

Kate holds up a stopping hand, raises an eyebrow. "No. Go back over there." She points at his desk.

Bewildered, Castle backs up a step. Then starts forward again.

"Do you not listen? I said go back over there. Sit down, Castle."

He pauses, watches her face, but there's not a hint of humor or teasing in her eyes. "Uh. Okay." He shuffles back to his seat, plops down.

"Write."

He shrugs his shoulders and leans forward on his knees.

"Castle, you don't get to touch me until you write Nikki free."

"What?" Startled by her ultimatum, he jerks upright.

"You can look, but you can't touch. I don't care if it takes all night. Weeks. You're sitting there until it's written."

All night. Night game. Shit. The game.

He replaces the laptop on the desk, wriggles his fingers, and looks at the blank page. He wants it to be right. He wants it to be Nikki Heat, and not Jameson Rook, that comes to the rescue. He wants the killer to come close, oh so close, to killing Nikki Heat. But he doesn't know how to get her out of it. She's backed herself into a corner this time, ditched all her life preservers, and so what can she do?

"If Rook saves her life, does that destroy the integrity of the story?" he says softly, not looking at her. He's expecting a scathing feminist rebuke.

"Rick."

His first name again. He looks up at her, hesitant, and feels his fingers settling over the home row: asdf jkl; home row. Kate Beckett. His home row.

"I think Rook deserves a chance to save her life. She would probably appreciate some life-saving."

Castle watches her a moment, then nods. Life-saving. "Dash-"

"Dash is under the coffee table. He'll be fine; Nikki won't. Nikki first, Castle."

_You can look, but you can't touch. _He takes a breath, looks back at his screen. Nikki, tied to her own bed in her own apartment, tugs on the rope that lashes her against the headboard, heart pounding. She's had a terrible fight with Rook, terrible, and she's afraid of what it will do to him to find her like this once the killer is done with her. Find her bleeding in her own bed. Her heart is breaking for him. For herself.

_Her heart is breaking for him._

_She hears the key in the door; the key she didn't give him; the key she guesses he took. Hears the key, hears the killer react._

_He's going to open the door and walk in on this. He's going to open the door to her apartment, apologetic and humble, and the first thing he'll see is the hallway straight back to her room (it's a new apartment and she had liked the idea of seeing the front door from her bed). He'll see the hallway and his eyes will follow the line of the hall to her bed. He'll see the pale moon of her right knee, her spread-eagle legs, the line of blood drying on her shin. He'll see the round curve of her hip, mottled with bruises, the swell of her breast marred by the criss-cross of shallow knife wounds. He'll see the fear in her eyes._

_Oh God._

_Nikki doesn't want him to see this. The blood, the wounds, the naked lines of her body: any of that she can take. The fear is hers alone. It's not to be seen. The killer hasn't seen it and won't. But Jameson Rook will see it the moment he opens the door. He'll see-_

_So much._

_She struggles ever harder against the rope, her wrists burning as the raw places break open again, weep clear and then red with her blood. Her gun mocks her on the nightstand. She needs her weapon. She just needs an inch more. She curls her fingers down to her wrist until the muscles start spasming again, cramps lock her joints even as she digs her nails into the knotted rope._

_He can't see her like this. He can't walk in on this._

_The killer, the shadow of death that haunts her doorway with a smile, the killer moves to the living room, lying in wait. No weapons but the element of surprise and his bare hands and his cold soulless will. Her heart pounds; the sweat slicks her body and makes the myriad wounds burn in excruciating pulses. Blood is pooled in her belly button. _

_The key turns the tumblers. She hears him calling out her name:_

_"Nik."_

_Her heart is breaking. It is in her eyes. She doesn't want him to see it._

_The door swings wider, the flare of his coat, the length of his thigh meeting his hip, the line of his belt, the straight arrow of his tie pointing to the bewildered flush of his face._

_He sees her. He sees it all._

* * *

><p>She sees it in his eyes. It wasn't there a few minutes ago, but now it is. How does that happen? She's fascinated. Enthralled by the fever that burns in him, the absolute focus on the story that flows from his fingers. She's. . .never been this close before. He's completely forgotten her. He's completely forgotten all of it.<p>

Kate takes care not to make much noise as she slides her feet to the floor. She holds her breath as his fingers stutter, waits for him to take up the thread again. Nikki Heat. Cut up a little. Needing a rescue, a hero. Kate licks her bottom lip, bites at the chapped skin there, drawing her lip into her teeth. Cut up a little, he said.

She eases to a standing position, waits again. He's in the zone. How does he do that? There was nothing just seconds ago. Nothing. How and where did it come from? Do the words come out of him in complete sentences, does he paint the images he sees in his mind's eye, does he instead find words pouring out of him in the phrases Nikki needs to say?

She is Nikki. Nikki is not her. Nikki is Castle. Does this make her Castle? Well, she is *a* Castle, now, isn't she? She didn't take his name, but Dashiell has it. Sidetracked. She's getting sidetracked.

He does this to her. He doesn't know it; she'll never let him see it. But the things that happen to her when he writes, when she reads a book of his, even when she sneaks onto his fansite and reads spoilers. . .

She loves to read. She's always loved to read. She's in love with the way words wrap around the world, remake it, unmake it, make it over. She's in love with a man who has mastered words, who brings them to heel at his command. She's terribly aroused by it, even standing breathless in his study as he ignores her completely and types furiously at the keys.

She hitches in a breath, reminded of her mortality, and slides closer, ever closer. She wants to know where it's come from, how it got here. She sounds ridiculous in her own head, but this is Richard Castle at work, intense and ethereal in his craft. God, how does he do it? How is it there now when it wasn't just five minutes ago?

She's not the woman who grabbed him and forced him to sit at his desk. She's not the woman who's lost without her badge. She's not the woman who can't get her son to cooperate.

She's Nikki Heat; she's Castle's muse; she's witness to something other than herself, something maybe other than *him.*

She thinks, maybe, there is a God. Because there was nothing, then there was something. It can't be anything other than deity, divine, supernatural. Can it? To have nothing, and then something?

There was nothing, and then there was herself and Castle, two made one. There was nothing, and then there was her son. She smiles to herself, to the stillness present in the room, and is grateful for that. Grateful. She is overwhelmed by how grateful it makes her to have him. Their son. That blooms in her too, suddenly there where nothing was before.

Kate shakes her head at herself, at her own words. She's not a writer; Castle isn't catching. She should stop while she's ahead.

She does want a little peek though, wants to know what it is that's come.

She sidesteps around the desk, careful not to move too fast, stays in his peripheral vision as best she can. His fingers are swift across the laptop's keys; he searches for a letter from time to time. His eyes are intent on the screen, rich and focused, even when his fingers stop to let him search for a word.

His head comes up for half a second, a glance out the window; he's forgotten she was ever there. His glance is over before his head is even up, his eyes are back down to the keys, then to the screen, back and forth. Has he never taken a keyboarding class? At 40, perhaps not. Did they have that in high school for him? She thinks not, smiling, but maybe he took a typing class.

On a typewriter. He's old enough.

She grins again, slides along the side of the room softly in her bare feet. Her toes curl in the rug under his desk. On tiptoe now, coming up behind his chair, her eyes pulled to the screen like magnets, almost able to read it-

_He can't see her like this._

Oh. But isn't Jameson going to save her? Does Kate really want Rook to save Nikki? What is there to save?

_So much._

She leans in, lets her fingers touch the top of his desk chair, softly, trying not to disturb him.

_Her heart is breaking. It is in her eyes._

Did he see that in her face? Does Kate somehow telegraph her grief to him even when she thinks she's managed to keep it hidden? She doesn't know. What started this writing jag, this fit of words, so that this is now the result. . .

It could be anything. It could be the way she sat at the window. It could be the ultimatum, or the tilt of her head, or the look on her face. He told her once that she inspired him but. . .

But how?

It seems important, vital, that she know.


	27. Chapter 27

Castle opens the door and tips the bike messenger as he takes the envelope. Kate walks up behind him, looks over his shoulder as the guy heads back to the elevator.

"What was that?"

He holds up the envelope with a grin. "From Gina."

"Dad!" Alexis bounces up from the couch where she was texting, glaring at him.

"What?" Castle looks over at Kate, and she's got a smirk on her face.

"She's being protective," Kate says softly and leans in to kiss his cheek. "What she doesn't realize is that it doesn't even occur to you."

"What doesn't occur to me?"

"Gina. Now go on. What's in the envelope?"

Gina doesn't occur to him? But he's the one who *thought* of calling Gina-

"Oh." He turns to Alexis. "Hey now. I'm not *that* stupid. Or suicidal."

Alexis's face twists into a laugh. "Okay, okay. But why did you get something from Gina?"

"It's really from the publisher. Black Pawn. I got their tickets."

Kate looks confused, Alexis looks confused, and now Dashiell has popped his head up from the back of the couch and is watching the adults as he jumps on the couch cushions.

Castle opens the envelope and pulls out the four premiere seating tickets to that night's Yankees game. He waves the tickets in front of Kate with a grin. "I finished the scene; I wrote Nikki free. Now let's have some fun."

"Fun, fun, fun!" Dash yells, jumping from the couch to the floor, sprawling, knocking into the coffee table, but then up and running for Castle. His son's head butts into Castle's shin, hard, and he winces, reaching down for the kid.

"That's right, kiddo. Fun at the ball park. Come on, Kate. You know you want to." He lifts Dashiell into his arms and holds the squirmy little guy tightly with one arm while he dangles the tickets in front of Kate's nose. She's already grinning at him.

"All right."

"Yes!" Castle pumps his fist and prods Dash into giving him a high-five. "Yankees game!"

"Kees day! Kees day!"

Alexis runs over and grabs the tickets, then throws her arms around Kate, then Castle. "Thanks Dad! This will be so much fun! Is it going to be cold tonight? Which shirt should I wear? Oh, and I have a hat in the back of my closet, somewhere-" Alexis slaps the tickets down on the counter as she runs towards the stairs.

"I think she was counting the tickets," he says with a frown, holding Dash against his chest and switching arms. His left arm is stinging with the effort of keeping the kid from falling. "Was she counting to make sure there were four?"

Kate sighs and rolls her eyes at him. "I don't know; let it go, Castle. Think you can get Dash's stuff together while I change?"

"Oh man, seriously? You have to put on a fashion show too?" he whines, scrunching up his face at her.

She pats his cheek. "No. But I'm not wearing my pajamas to the game. Man up. You can do it. You *always* do it."

"Pajamas? Those are pajamas?" He glances down at her knee-length sweats and the Yankees tshirt. "You're even already wearing a Yankees shirt."

"It's my pajamas. You seriously didn't know that?"

"Have you been wearing that to bed?"

"Yes."

He grins saucily and claps both hands around Dashiell's ears. "Oh, see now, I've just been taking it right off again. Never really pay attention to the wrapping, Kate. Just the present underneath."

She holds quite still for a moment, and he's worried that he's somehow overstepped (how can you overstep with your own wife?) but then a slow grin spreads across her face, eyes dark with promise. "Never pay attention to the wrapping? I should just throw out all that black lace then, should I?"

He blinks, an image of her from a couple months ago in that black teddy he bought specifically to unwrap, and shakes his head. "No, no, no. I was being too hasty. Forget I said anything. Go change. Yankees game, remember? Go Yankees!"

She gives him a sly look and walks past him for their bedroom. He puts a hand to his chest to measure the swift rhythm of his heart, and Dashiell bounces in his arms.

"Up, up, Daddy?"

"Yeah, buddy, you are up. Let's go get you ready for a baseball game. It's your first game. We need to bring your little glove, got to be a gamer. And oh man, I think you have a pin-striped Yankees shirt Mommy got for you."

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, repeating the words you understand, I got it. But let's go get dressed before we see Mommy, okay? Pin-striped shirt. Can you say shirt?" Castle starts climbing the stairs with Dashiell in his arms, but the kid is sufficiently distracted by the question not to notice.

"Hurt."

Castle laughs. "No, buddy, not hurt. Shirt. How about this one? Yan-kees. Can you say Yankees?"

"He-kees."

"Close enough."

* * *

><p>Kate finds her Swisher name and number shirt that Castle bought for her as a joke awhile back. She shrugs it on and adjusts the hem; it fits rather tight. She pulls on her jeans, tugs her hair into a messy pony tail, looks for the baseball cap her father got her ages ago. Somewhere in the back here, next to the belts.<p>

Kate produces the hat, loops her pony tail through it and tugs it down over her eyes. Too low. She taps it up and can see herself in the mirror again.

A Yankees game. She and her dad would sit in the outfield bleachers and heckle the left fielder right along with everyone else in the crowd. It's where she learned her most colorful swear words. Her father bought a bag of peanuts and they'd spend all game cracking the shells and digging out the nut with a fingernail, eating peanuts and dropping those shells at their feet. Whenever the pitcher would throw a good one, painting the corners of the strike zone, but the ump called it a ball, her father would get on his feet and yell, "Come on, blue!" She can still hear his voice, loud and disgusted, echo in her ears.

Her mother never went to Yankees games; Kate's never had the heart to ask her father why. After her mom's death, the ritual of the game became one of the last things they can both hold on to together. They meet in Yankee Tavern about a block away, and they drink one beer together, getting ready for the game (used to, no drinking now). Then the two of them walk down to the stadium with the crowd about twenty minutes before game time, shuffle through the side entrance with everyone else, make their way to the bleacher seats.

A bag of peanuts, a beer for Kate because her father insists he not hold her back (she usually doesn't drink it anymore), each of them wearing the same hats they always wore, hunkered down for the first pitch. Since her mom's death, her father refuses to put his hand over his heart or sing the national anthem, but he stads out of respect. She's still not sure why he does that, refuses. Then the umpire shouts "Play ball!" and the two of them start cracking peanuts, start cracking the left fielder, forget for awhile that someone in their family is missing, will always be missing, because it's always just been the two of them.

She hasn't gone to a game with Castle yet. She's kind of been holding off on suggesting it, because it's been such a thing for her and her dad. But the whole experience, doing it right, with Castle? The baseball game means a lot to her, and she's both excited for it, and worried that Castle will in some way mess things up. He won't; he'll do something sweet, or touching, like he always manages to do (even in the midst of pissing her off he manages it), but she's still worried. It's a big deal. He knows it is too, because she saw the look on his face when he produced the tickets.

The Yankees play the Indians tonight; she saw the schedule for this series at the station a couple days ago. She remembers Ryan saying that he and Jenny were planning on going to one of the night games, if they were off.

Well, there's that twinge of guilt; she doesn't even know if they've closed the case. It's Friday night. She'll text Ryan, see where he's at. Ryan's been texting her off and on the last couple of days, subtly asking her questions for Esposito. It's okay; she doesn't mind getting questions on the little procedural things. She thinks maybe Ryan is also doing it to keep her in the loop, make her feel involved.

A year ago, hell, even a couple months ago, she might have needed that. Now? She doesn't care. She truly left work at work this time. The case isn't hers, not her collar, not her conviction, not her responsibility any more. She's working on making her family find its balance again, not on a murder case.

Alexis walks into the bathroom looking for her. "Hey, will you braid my hair?"

Kate turns, a little flustered by the request, a little proud to be asked, as stupid as that is, and takes the rubber band from Alexis. "Sure. French braid down the back?"

"Yeah." Alexis turns her back to Kate.

She gathers up some hair, then pauses. "Have you ever done the fishtail?"

Alexis quirks an eyebrow over her shoulder, an imitation of the Beckett look, and shakes her head. "What's a fishtail?"

"It's inverted. It looks really cool. I'll do it for you and if you don't like it, I'll do a regular french braid."

"Okay, cool. Thanks."

Kate pushes Alexis back out to the bed and has her sit down so she can get at the top of the girl's head. She parts Alexis's hair in two at the back and pulls a lock from the back to wrap around the front, towards the middle, and then lets it hang down the other side. After a bit, the hair pulled up from underneath each part weaves side to side to make it look like a braid has been inverted somehow.

Kate works it loosely and when she's done, she tucks in a few strands here and there and then tightens the rubber band around the end. Patting the braid to make sure it holds, she turns Alexis around. "Ready to check it out?"

"Yeah!"

She and Alexis head back into the bathroom where the girl can stand in front of the vanity mirror and see behind her in the mirror hanging over the sink. Her face lights up when she sees the braid and she turns her head this way and that to inspect the fishtail.

"That is so very cool. How did you do that?"

"Uh. . .hard to explain. You pull hair from the back and wrap it around the front. Here, let me show you really quickly." Kate pulls off her hat, takes down her hair.

Alexis tries to stop her, looking horrified. "No, no! Oh, sorry. I didn't mean for you to ruin your hair just to show me."

Kate laughs and pulls the rubber band onto her wrist, shakes her hair out over her shoulder. "It's not a big deal. Nothing's ruined. I just stuffed it all up under my cap. Here. Watch."

She pulls her hair to one side so she can see and begins fishtail braiding her own hair. Alexis watches in fascination for a second, then reaches out to take both strands. "Can I try? I mean, do you mind?"

"Go ahead." Kate stands patiently in front of Alexis, trying to see past the girl's hands as she works on the fishtail method. She realizes she's holding her breath and lets it out slowly, a strange feeling settling over her as Alexis works on her hair.

That relaxed, drugged feeling she gets when she's at Mane Salon and the hair stylist cuts and styles her hair is creeping over Kate now. Only, it's Alexis's hands working with her hair, and somehow it feels. . .more. Just more. Kate used to play beauty parlor with her mom and spent hours arranging her mother's hair. Was this how it felt? No wonder her mother could sit there, so still and straight, eyes closed, letting Kate do whatever she liked.

God, she loves this girl. Alexis isn't even hers, really, but they've made something of their connection. Alexis *is* hers now. She suddenly wishes she was there for all of Alexis's beauty parlor days, when the little girl might have needed someone to sit still for hours, letting her tiny, awkward hands tease and tangle and in general make a mess of things, just like Kate did to her mom.

"Did you ever play beauty parlor?" Kate asks. She just can't help it. She opens her eyes and glances over at the girl.

Alexis is blushing. "Yes. With my dolls. I tried on my dad too. He was very patient, but it usually didn't work."

Kate laughs as she tries to imagine Rick with bows or braids. "With your mom?"

Alexis stops smiling. "No."

Oh. Oh, God, that hurts. Kate doesn't say anything; she's already said too much. She wishes she could go back to that little girl Alexis and hug her tight and then sit in her room and let her try out everything on her, Kate, instead of trying to make it work with her father's short, boy hair.

Some things you need a mother for. Kate's mom was always willing to be the beauty parlor customer.

"We're kinda doing that now, aren't we?" Alexis says softly, her hands still fumbling to get the fish tail right.

"We are," Kate agrees, and wraps her fingers around one of Alexis's wrists, squeezes, then lets her get back to it. "Maybe I'll wear my hair like yours. Would you mind?"

"No! Not at all. But you might want to do it yourself. I made a mess of it, I think." Alexis winds the rubber band around the end, then steps back so Kate can see it.

"Looks fine to me."

"What about your baseball cap? Didn't you and your Dad always go to games and wear your caps every time?" Alexis takes the hat from the bathroom sink and holds it up. "Like for good luck?"

"Baseball superstition, yeah. But this is better." Kate smiles at her and leans in to give Alexis a hug.

Alexis still looks troubled; she's always been too sensitive about things like this, about butting in where she doesn't belong, about pushing things too far. Kate was never like that; she was always the girl who went too far, did what she wanted, grew a little wild. Alexis is almost. . .timid.

"Hey, I'll bring it along, just in case I need it for a rally."

Alexis nods, a smile coming back to her face. "Good idea. A rally hat."

Kate grins at Alexis's reflection in the mirror, inspects her hair again. "You ready? Let's go find your dad."


	28. Chapter 28

In the elevator down, Castle takes a moment to look at his family, the four of them in Yankees gear and sunglasses, even Dashiell. The kid's pinstripe Jeter jersey is loose on his body, swallowing him, the short sleeves are at his wrists.

Kate picked it out; it was the first thing she bought for Dashiell, when she was pregnant. He remembers her coming to his apartment, back in the days when she didn't look happy or settled about any of this, not their situation, not their relationship, not the way she was being treated on the job. He remembers how lonely it felt, to love her and not be able to share that joy with her because she was still so upset, so afraid.

She came into his apartment; he was making arrangements for his book tour to be rearranged so that he could make it to doctor's appointments. She wasn't smiling, but the look on her face was as close to happy as he'd seen it in awhile. Castle ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket, watched her walk towards him. She had a bag in her hand, crunched up small; she held it against her chest.

"I found something," she said.

He tried smiling at her, still puzzled by the look on her face, and she held out the bag to him. He opened it, thinking, idiotically, that it was about the case, but found a Yankees jersey instead. Toddler sized. Jeter. Number 2 on the back.

He's trying to remember now, exactly, the look on her face when he opened it. She was 18 weeks; they'd only known about the pregnancy for about six weeks. She'd gone to a doctor's appointment without him that day because of the stupid PR stuff Paula kept roping him into. At the time, he remembers this clearly, she hadn't told him it was an ultrasound appointment; he hadn't known. Looking from that jersey to her face, the thing he saw was something like awe.

"A Yankees jersey," he said. Dumb, stupid Castle.

Her lips twitched then, not yet a smile, but so close. "He'll be a fan." Awe in her eyes, awe and humility and joy. Was that joy?

It had taken him longer than it should have. "A boy? It's a boy. We're having a boy."

Something of his shock, his amazement, must've translated to her because she smiled at him, shy and delicate, so delicate a smile, and he wrapped both arms around her and lifted her into a hug. When he finally pulled back, cradling her face with his hands, he thought maybe she'd been crying. Good tears this time. For once.

So now, seeing Dashiell in that Jeter jersey, almost big enough for it, makes his chest hurt. Dash wears the shirt his mother bought for him nearly two years ago, the shirt that seemed to symbolize the change for them, a shirt that made things okay again, made it real.

As if Dashiell can tell the nature of his father's thinking, the little boy bounces up and down in the car, the movement making the kid laugh, hard. Yup, that's real all right.

The car's rocking back and forth makes Castle's stomach flip, but if Dashiell is happy, then it means he's not pitching a fit. So all is good. He wants this outing to go well. Castle glances down to Dashiell as the boy hangs on to Kate's hand with both of his and jumps up and down again. With Dash in tow, he's not sure anything could possibly go right.

Once they hit the ground floor, Castle scoops up Dashiell and carries him off the elevator, debating where to go first. It's three in the afternoon, and the game starts in four hours, but they'll need most of that time to properly wear Dashiell out before they find their seats.

Castle doesn't want to miss a thing. So he's going to run Dash ragged.

As she steps into the lobby, Kate, of course, looks cool, effortless, in form-hugging jeans, that tight Swisher shirt he bought as a joke but which looks sexy as hell, and her Armani sunglasses. (He remembers her telling him that she put those on a credit card, first purchase after making detective. A treat for herself.) She's done something to her hair, it's all gathered to one side and braided. He'd comment on it, but he's afraid he'll say the wrong thing. What if it's some kind of a thing, or not really a braid? Alexis's hair is the same way, he realizes. Huh. Maybe it is a thing. Maybe they did it together. Seems odd for Kate though.

Alexis looks a little too grown-up for his liking. She always does lately. Not skanky or anything, just twenty. Twenty-one soon. And looking it. Even in baseball game gear. Those Audrey Hepburn white sunglasses only make her look older and more sophisticated, to Castle's dismay.

They go through the lobby, through the door that Ray holds for them, Dashiell still twisting around in Castle's arms to get down. The force of the afternoon sunlight puts a damper on Dash's energy for a moment, and Castle steps out of the flow of traffic.

"Where first, girls?" he says turning in the middle of the sidewalk to look at them. He catches the glimpse of a photographer over Kate's shoulder and shifts Dashiell against his chest so that the kid's face is turned away. The photographer gets his shot and pulls out his cell phone.

Shit.

Alexis bounces on her toes and grins. "How about the park? Kilmer Park. It's close to the stadium. Dash could run around."

"Good thought, Alexis." Castle catches Kate's eye and gestures with his chin. Alexis intercepts the look and glances over her shoulder as they start off towards the subway station.

"Are they still blurring Dash's face?" Alexis says, turning back to them with a sour look. "Because I've seen a lot more of them hanging around lately."

"At school?" Castle frowns. He and the security chief have a deal.

"No, not at school. Just here." She glances back at the photographer again. "He's calling his friends."

"Yeah. And we're all Yankeed up," Castle sighs. "They'll know we're going to the game."

Kate speaks up finally. "It's okay. They can't ruin a game, Castle." She slides her arm through his and gives it a squeeze. "Really. It's fine."

He watches her a moment, but with her sunglasses on, he can't see her eyes. She's relaxed though, not smiling but not frowning either. Castle juggles Dashiell in his other arm, the squirmy thing wants down, and tries to put the photographer out of his mind.

He sighs. "Okay, Kilmer Park it is. Swings. Dash, you want swings?"

"Sings sings. Carry you." Kate lets go of his arm so he can wrestle with Dash.

"I've got to carry you, kiddo." Castle bounces him a little. "It's too crowded to walk."

Alexis adjusts her bag and strolls ahead of them, her phone out as she texts. Probably Ashley. Well, no, not anymore. He forgot. They broke up. He wonders why, but he's not going to ask. She'll have to tell him herself. Or maybe she's told Kate.

He glances back to look at Kate, walking half a step behind him now, and sees the photographer tailing them. Kate sees the look on his face and glances over her shoulder too, then back to him.

"Castle, it's fine. Let it go." They start down the steps to the subway station, going into darkness.

Castle pushes his sunglasses back on his forehead. "I just. . .this is my family, Kate. It's my fault they're here; I bring this. I just want them to leave my family alone."

She shoves her shades up as well, catches up to him, and slides her fingers along the inside of his elbow, smiling at him. "That's very sweet, Castle. But a couple of pictures, fifteen pictures of us walking to the subway; it's not going to do any harm. They've been really good about keeping Dashiell out of it. People are curious, they want a look. We give them a few looks, then hopefully they don't turn on us later." She reaches over to take the sunglasses off her son before he throws them.

Castle angles Dash so that she can get to the kid's bag hanging from his shoulder. She shoves the glasses in an outside pocket as he takes the last step down the stairs. "Hopefully? When are you ever optimistic about humanity, Kate?"

Her mouth twitches. "True. Still, you said earlier that we needed to be a little more. . .aggressive about the charity work. And I think you're right."

Castle blinks, but she's still smiling at him. "Are you kidding me?"

"Not kidding you." They reach the turnstiles and slide their passes through. As always, never fails, his pass refuses to work the first couple of times, holding up the line, Dashiell squirming, until he finally gets through.

Castle catches up with the two girls. "All of the sudden you've changed your mind about the charity events?"

"Not all of them, Castle. You gotta let me ease my way into this." She takes the lead and heads down the tunnel towards their train.

"No, yeah, sure. We'll ease all you want." He moves Dashiell to his other side and switches places with her so that Dash can't kick her as he bounces in Castle's arms. "What were you thinking?"

"That half-marathon."

His heart sinks. "Oh."

"We could run it together. It's on your list."

He gave her a list, a couple weeks ago, of the charities he does a lot of regular work with. Or did. He used to do more before he started following Kate and the detectives of the 12th. And now with Dash, he's fallen behind on a lot of this stuff, and Paula keeps reminding him that if he's going to be generous, he might as well let people know. "It was on my list, yeah. But I've never actually run it, Kate. I mean. . .I donate money and help them fundraise. I am an excellent cold-caller."

Alexis laughs. "You could sell the Brooklyn Bridge." She sticks in earbuds and cranks up her iPod.

"Thanks sweetheart," he yells, grinning at her over Dash's head, giving her a thumbs up.

"I talked with the board." Kate steers them towards the escalators. "They said if we want, we can run the half and you can MC the event."

"Are you kidding me?" They arrive at the escalator and head down in a tight bunch, people pressing around them, people trying to get home or get out. Dashiell reaches down and holds on to the moving rail with two hands. It's not quite at the same speed as the steps, so Castle finds himself getting yanked backwards, has to jerk the kid free. "Kate. I don't do the exercise stuff."

"You lie. You workout some. You can do this too."

"I can't run a half marathon!"

Alexis turns, pops one earbud out of her ear and laughs at him. "Kate's gonna train you," she teases. "Just increase your miles every week. No problem."

"I'm not running a half; that's crazy. Isn't there a 5K part to it? I'll do that. You can be the half-marathon-running half of the Castle family," he says, poking Kate with his elbow.

"You'll do the 5K instead?" she asks, eyebrows raising. "I run the half, you run the 5K. We do your charity event together?"

Oh shoot. Did he just agree to run a 5K? "Oh. Yeah, I guess I said that. Can I take that back?"

"Nope. Deal's made. Off the table."

Alexis laughs at him again. "Dad have you *ever* run a race?"

"No. Never. Running is for criminals. And cops. Not the rest of us." He feels a whine coming on.

"I thought you wanted to be one of us, Castle. One of the cops."

"Not this much." Castle reaches down to unwrap Dashiell's hands from the rail as the escalator ends, steps off while Dashiell screeches, lamenting the end of his fun ride. Kate and Alexis crowd with him down at the edge of the platform.

"So, Castle. Training for the 5K will start tomorrow."

What has he done?


	29. Chapter 29

Maybe it was the hour in Kilmer Park, zipping down the slide with Alexis to catch him at the bottom, swinging high sitting backwards on Kate's lap with his head tucked over her shoulder and squealing in her ear, racing away from Castle as they played hide and seek in the trees.

Maybe it's the hot dog in one hand (precious cargo that), the promise of cotton candy later if he's good, or the huge foam finger he clutches (by the finger) and won't let go of.

Or maybe it's just the right combination of sounds and sights and smells, but regardless, Dashiell Alexander Castle is riveted by baseball.

Dash sits in his father's lap, his eyes everywhere, all over, watching every little thing, but sitting perfectly still. He's tilted forward, eyes wide, mouth open in a round O of astonishment. Like he can't figure out how this is all happening.

Kate wishes, for the first time in maybe the kid's whole life, that Dash was sitting in her lap instead. She knows she'll have her turn, of course, running after him when he finally gets bored, but at this moment, Dashiell is enthralled.

The game hasn't even started yet; the guys are still out on the field throwing the ball around, playing catch, wearing their jackets, chatting with each other. A couple of kids are hanging over the railing with pens and baseball cards, hats, trying to get Jeter's attention, yelling for an autograph.

The Black Pawn premium seats are really nice. Along the third base line in the Legends Suite, with comfortable seating at a long table, closed circuit tvs every couple of seats, and a waiter who takes orders and brings out food and drinks.

Kate has BBQ nachos, entirely disgusting and completely delicious, and a beer in a souvenir cup. Alexis has a pepsi and a hot dog, just like her brother, and Castle has a couple of things spread across the table; he kept asking the waiter to go back and get more, like a little kid. He even ordered sushi.

Dashiell leans forward, practically hanging out of Castle's lap, to watch a couple of boys race down the steps to the railing, both of the boys wearing Yankees gear and carrying their gloves.

Kate watches him watching the kids, the look of absorption in his face like nothing she's ever seen before.

Kate looks over at Alexis, sees the girl texting again. "Who you talking to?"

Alexis blushes, and immediately Kate's eyebrows raise. "No one. Well, a guy from school."

"What's his name?"

"Lofton. I saw that he'd checked in to the game, and I messaged him."

"He checked in. You didn't check in, did you? Because you know that's dangerous. All kinds of people know where you are when you check in, and they know where you're not."

Alexis rolls her eyes. "No, Mom. I didn't check in. Dad has already given me the lecture."

They share a look, part smirk, part hesitance, and then Kate goes for serious. "You know that's because I gave *him* the lecture first?"

Alexis laughs. "No, really? Dad was updating where he was?"

"Yeah, the idiot. It's dangerous for anyone to be doing that, but someone like him? Someone. . ." Kate sighs. "Famous. Sheesh, that's asking for trouble."

"Yeah, he's got crazy fans. But no, I don't tell people on twitter or facebook where I am. I get it."

"Promise?"

"I promise. I mean, I told Lofton. . ."

"Lofton," Kate wrinkles her nose. "Like Kenny Lofton?"

Alexis laughs, startled. "Yeah. You know him? He was named for some guy, Kenny Lofton."

"Oh, come on. Seriously? You've never heard of Kenny Lofton?" Kate sits up, staring down at Alexis, feeling old all of a sudden. "He's a famous baseball player. He's in the Hall of Fame. He played for the Indians, the team we're rooting against."

"Ohh," Alexis murmurs, blushing. "That explains why Lofton is at the game. And some of his comments."

Kate shakes her head. "A house divided, Alexis."

Alexis blushes. "It's not like we're going out."

Kate meets her eyes and they share another look, and this time, Alexis blushes fiercely and ducks her head.

"Do I need to tell your father about this Lofton guy? I could do a background search." Kate threatens, grinning to let Alexis know she's teasing.

"Oh no, please." Alexis glances at her phone, blushes again, and starts texting back.

"What? He can't bother to call you?" Kate says, reaching for Alexis's phone.

Alexis yanks it back, trying to look murderous, laughing instead, keeping her phone out of Kate's reach. "Don't you dare."

"Did that say Al? Does he call you Al?" Kate laughs.

Alexis groans and hides her face. "I can't make him stop. I made the mistake of telling him I never had a nickname and he's just run with it. He's trying out names every other day."

"Hilarious. Is he stuck on Al?" Kate's got that Paul Simon song running through her head now; if Alexis hasn't heard it before, she'll absolutely *have* to play it for her. Find it on youtube on her iPhone. _And Betty when you call me, you can call me Al._

"He is stuck on Al. It's humiliating."

"It's kinda cute," Kate offers, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She glances over at Castle, but he's busy pointing out things to Dashiell, their faces close, Dashiell's intensity and focus completely endearing.

"You can't talk. You have a great name to make into nicknames. Kate, Katie, Kat, Kath. Endless awesome possibilities. Mom." Alexis emphasizes the new name with another roll of her eyes, but Kate can see the still-fresh hope on the young woman's face, like she expects to be rejected.

Kate decides to let it go, and instead shakes her head. "Yeah, that's true, but the problem is, every nickname gets stuck with a certain age. When I was little, it was Katie. In high school, everyone *had* to call me Katherine. One of my best friends, Madison, always called me Becks, so I think of her whenever someone tries it, and it doesn't sound right coming out of anyone else's mouth. In college, it was Kat. Well, until my mom died, and then it was Kate. I think because she called me Kate a lot, refused to use Kat. And then, of course, on the job, it's always Beckett."

Alexis gives her a soft smile, and her phone vibrates to announce another message, but she doesn't look at it. "Beckett. That's Dad's favorite."

Kate smiles, mostly to herself. Because it's *not* his favorite, but she's not going to tell his daughter that. "Although, sometimes Esposito likes to play with fire. He'll call me Castle when I say something stupid."

"Which isn't often, I'm sure," Alexis says, laughing so hard she has to put her drink down. "But that's priceless."

"Oh, do not encourage him." Kate glowers, but the weird thing is, she sometimes likes it when she gets called Castle. She didn't take Castle's last name, just too much paperwork and too difficult to try to change the badge and everything, but it's a way of keeping Castle with them on the job that she likes. Finds reassuring. Oddly enough.

Alexis checks her phone, swiftly texts back again.

"So, if not Al, then what?" Kate says, nudging the girl's shoulder. "Lexi?"

"Ew, no. Meredith calls me that."

"Your mom."

"No," Alexis says, overly exaggerating, shrugging her shoulders as if to get rid of something, and then turns towards Kate with a sly grin. "You've never called me by a nickname."

Kate doesn't touch that one either, but makes a mental note to talk to Castle about somehow not replacing Meredith as Alexis's mother. If possible. She is really not looking forward to that conversation. "Okay then, Alexis. What would you want to be called?"

She shrugs again, eyes back on the field, watching the players mill around, looking young and sad. "I don't know. Kinda defeats the purpose, doesn't it? I like Dash's name for me, but it would sound silly coming from an adult."

Kate smiles, glances over at her son. Castle is trying to help Dashiell eat his hot dog, breaking it apart with his fingers, but Dash wants to shove the whole thing in his mouth.

"Yeah, I don't think Lofton will think Is-siss is very attractive."

Alexis laughs as well, glancing past Kate to look at Dash. "Well, *I* like it. Who cares? It's sweet."

"It is," Kate agrees. "Lex?"

"Ew. Lex Luthor."

"Oh, right, bad guy."

"Arch-nemesis of Clark Kent. And Superman is like my favorite comic book super hero."

"Can't have that then," Kate says, bemused by Alexis's sudden foray into Castle geeky-ness. "You don't like Al. There's Lexis?"

"That's a luxury car. Lexus."

"And we do *not* want the boys thinking they can take a ride," Castle chimes in, shooting them both a look.

Alexis leans over to smack him at the same time that Kate punches his shoulder, and he rubs at the sore spot, giving them a pathetic look. Dashiell chooses that moment to slap his palm against Castle's chest, mimicking the girls.

"Oh no," Kate groans, ducking her head. "My fault."

"*So* your fault, Detective," Castle says, narrowing his eyes as he captures Dashiell's little hand before it can slap him again. "No, Dashiell. No hitting Daddy."

Alexis, blushing, leans across Kate. "I'm sorry, Dad! That was really bad of me, Dashiell. Don't be like sissy. It's not nice to hit."

Dashiell, whose grin is starting to fade in the flood of negative reaction, looks hesitantly at his mother, as if for the last word.

Kate sighs. "Yeah, mommy shouldn't hit either. I'm sorry, Daddy. Tell Daddy you're sorry too, Dash."

Castle grins at her, eyebrows dancing, and she narrows his eyes at him. Suddenly, the announcer comes over the PA system to introduce the teams, and Dashiell's eyes pop open in surprise, the hitting forgotten.

Kate and Alexis both laugh at his astonishment, and Dash turns to look at his mother, holding both hands up, his leftover hot dog tilting precariously, the foam finger dipping into his ketchup.

"Momma!" he yells.

"Yeah, exciting buddy."

"Mom-ma!"

"See the baseball players, Dash? He's going to tell us their names and where they play," Kate says, pointing towards the field.

Dashiell struggles in Castle's arms, then turns to his father and shoves both the hot dog and the foam finger into his chest. "Daddy. Up. Up."

Kate saves the hot dog, lets the foam finger fall while Castle handles the kid. Dashiell gets to his feet to see over his father's head, glancing all around for the source of the loud voice over the PA system, balancing on Castle's thighs while his father hangs on to him by the waist.

"It's just a man, an announcer, Dash. He's up in that booth, way over there," Kate says, tapping Dashiell's shoulder and pointing towards the press box past Alexis's head. "See those windows?"

"Man?" Dashiell asks, actually following Kate's finger and line of sight.

Castle turns so that Dashiell has a better view. "And see, here comes the Cleveland Indians. That's the team we boo, Dash. Say, Boo! Boo, Indians."

"Mooooooo," Dash moos, grinning with delight when his family laughs.

"Boo," Castle corrects, laughing still. "It's Boo, with a B. Buh, buh."

"Buh, buh, buh!" Dash yells, proud of himself.

The announcer pauses as the Indians's team lines up along the visitor's side, all down the first base line, and then the Yankees come onto the field to a standing ovation, the crowd yelling, cheering, applauding on their feet.

Dash's wide eyes scan the crowd, and then the kid starts bouncing on his father's knees, so they stand as well, cheering for the Yankees as they take the field. Alexis has her phone in one hand, checking it every so often for more texts from Lofton.

As the announcer goes through the Yankees lineup, Dashiell keeps swinging his head around trying to find the source of that amazing voice, clapping himself every time someone applauds or cheers for a particular player.

Right before the announcer gets to Derek Jeter, Kate grabs Dash's attention, tugging on his foot. "Hey, Dash, watch." She puts two fingers in her mouth, waits for Jeter's name and position to be called, and then lets out a piercing whistle.

Dashiell crows in delight, immediately shoving a fist in his mouth and squealing, trying to imitate his mother's call. Castle and Alexis crack up, and Kate tries to teach him to purse his lips and blow instead of making high-pitched noises, but he keeps squealing instead. Dashiell 'whistles' for the rest of the team, beaming at his family after each successful screech.

Then the guys on the field stand at attention, take their hats off, and the announcer introduces the performer.

"Man! Man!"

"Yeah, he's telling us who's going to sing, Dash." Castle leans his face close to Dashiell's and points down at the field where a woman is clutching a microphone. The announcer asks everyone to stand for the national anthem, and the crowd grows mostly quiet.

"Man, man, Momma!"

"Shh, baby, that lady is going to sing," she says.

"See down there? on the field," Castle whispers, maneuvering Dash so he can see the field past the people in front of them. They are only about ten rows back, but with everyone standing, it makes it hard for Dash to get a good view of home plate.

Alexis is leaning the other direction; Kate follows her to get a better look. The entire stadium hushes as the woman begins singing, the team flags snapping overhead, the stars and stripes on display at the far end of the field by the scoreboard.

Castle is whispering in Dashiell's ear, pointing out the flag on the jumbotron, their cheeks close together. Kate watches Dash's face as he looks from the flag, to the people all around them, to the press box, to the field, taking in everything, so still and so alive, so *good.*

Then the ump yells, "Play ball!"

The crowd bursts into cheers, and the Yankees spread out across the baseball field, putting their hats back on, tightening their gloves as the pipe organ pounds out a charge. The Indians file back into the visitor's dugout, everyone milling around while a couple of people head to the pitcher's mound.

"Mommy! Ball! Ball!" Dash yells and leans across Castle to reach for her.

With a grin, Kate takes him, putting him on her hip between herself and Castle so he can see both the field and the crowd and the press box, his face alight. Everyone starts to regain their seats, and they follow suit; Kate pushes the BQ nachos further away so Dash can't get his hands on them.

The first pitch is thrown out by a Hall of Famer, Whitey Ford, a legendary pitcher for the Yankees, assisted by Reggie Jackson, another Hall of Fame former player. Kate sits up to watch the 82 year old man lay it in, glad to see it make it to the catcher's glove; her heart pounds as he waves to the crowd.

She turns back to Castle. "Oh my word, Castle. That was Whitey Ford. Did you know he'd be here?"

"I knew they'd brought back two Hall of Famers to throw out the first pitch."

She glances back to the field to watch Reggie Jackson lead Whitey off the field, her eyes following them. After a moment, she realizes that Dashiell is watching the two former players as well, and with almost just as much hunger in his eyes as hers.

"Whitey Ford was one of my Dad's heroes." Kate glances back to Castle. "All he talks about when he talks about Yankees baseball is Whitey Ford and Mickey Mantle, the two of them."

"Ford's a lefty, isn't he?"

"Yeah. He broke a ton of American League records at the time. Won the Cy Young Award in '61, and the World Series MVP that year too. Six time World Series Champion. Just amazing. I can't believe he was here."

Castle is grinning at her, like a fool, and she rolls her eyes and sits back to watch the Yankees's pitcher warm up. Castle snags one of her BBQ nachos and crunches into it, still grinning at her.

"Do we need to get you one of those playbooks so you can memorize everyone's stats?"

She shoots him another look, but then bites her lip. "My dad and I used to fil out the score cards together. I saw they still have those."

Castle's face goes from teasing to tender in two seconds. "Stay there. I'll go get you one."

"No, Castle, wait!"

But he's already jogging up the stairs to the concourse level, searching for a score card for her. She realizes her cheeks are hot and glances over at Alexis. Furious texting going on over there, no idea how utterly stupidly sweet her father is.

As the game gets underway, Kate glances down to the little boy still in her lap, amazed at how intensely he is focusing on the game, amazed that he's not whining for another hot dog or squirming to get down. He can't know anything about baseball, except for the games he's seen on television with them, and for those it wasn't like he was sitting still long enough for it to stick.

Castle comes back with the score card and a little golf-sized pencil, presents them with a flourish. Kate leans over and kisses his cheek, but he turns his head at the last minute and presses a hot kiss to her mouth. His tongue traces the roof of her mouth; his hand drags down her cheek, tangles in her hair. She clutches at Dashiell unconsciously, making him squirm and then shriek.

They break apart. Kate cuddles Dash, soothing the spot where her fingers pinched his arm, kissing the top of his head. Castle shifts in his seat, spreads the score card out on the table, starts filling in the names of the Indians's players along one side, flips it over to do the home team.

When she thinks she's got herself under control again, Kate reaches out and puts her hand on Castle's knee, smirking when he jumps.

"Thank you," she says softly when he glances over at her.

"Anything." And then he ducks his head, comes back up to meet her eyes with a sly grin. "Anything for a kiss like that." Then he looks past her to Dashiell, still sitting in her lap, completely unaware of his parents, completely entranced by the sight before him.

Dash follows the ball, every pitch, watches it pop up or ground out or bloop over the heads of the players. He watches the guys run, the players rocket the ball in from the outfield, or the third base coach give signs to the guy in the batter's box.

Kate glances back to Castle with a shrug. "Who knew?"

He laughs and slides the score card over to her. "Want to do this part? I'll take him."

She chews on her lip, shakes her head. "No, I got him. You fill it out."

"I kinda suck at it. I keep mixing up the numbers. Like, is the pitcher 1 or 2? And I know that a win is a W, so what is a walk?"

She smiles, lets it crack wide into a grin that touches him, causes an answering smile on his face. She laces her hand in his. "I'll tell you what to put. And a walk is BB, balls on base. Not a W, no. The pitcher is number 1, catcher 2, first baseman is 3, and so on."

"It's the 'so on' I have trouble with."

"We'll do it together. It'll be fun. Don't worry. I got your back, partner."

He grins at her and leans in to steal a kiss, catching the corner of her mouth. "Mm, BBQ nachos."

"Gross. Watch the game, Castle."

"Shhhh," Dashiell says suddenly, turning around to glare at his parents. "Ball, ball."

"Yes sir," Kate laughs.

"Slave driver," Castle grumbles, and gets a smack on the shoulder for his trouble. From Dash. Kate chooses not to correct him.


	30. Chapter 30

Kate gets caught up in the game, finds herself cheering when the Yankees make a great play, and hears Dashiell cheering with her. The sound of her son's voice rising into the night just under her own, the sound of Castle's broad hands clapping beside them, the sound of the ball against the bat and the gasping, exultant crowd waiting for the hit to make its way, foul or fair, all these miracles layer her in joy.

There are no grand slams in this game, no records being broken, no legends in the making, but something magic and extraordinary falls from the stadium lights and onto the field, brilliant and bright, and is reflected back to the crowd, beaming.

Dashiell feels it, senses it, just as Kate did with her father years ago, just as the two boys racing up and down the steps for every foul ball do as well, the feeling of greater things happening here than might otherwise happen in ordinary, every day lives.

In the bottom of the fifth inning, the catcher is at bat, working the count, and Dashiell has both hands against the table, leaning as far forward as he can, Kate leaning forward as well. Castle has his phone out to take their picture, everyone smiling, and then the batter pops the ball up.

As one, they turn their heads to the sound, see the ball heading in their direction. Castle yells, "Heads up!" and jumps out of his chair, puts his body in front of her and Dash, raising both hands, and somehow, miraculously, manages to catch the foul ball bare-handed.

The fans in their section cheer, the jumbotron replays the catch, and Castle, bowing to the crowd, shakes out his hand and winces, cradling the ball close to his chest. "Ow, ow, ow. Shoulda brought my glove."

He sits down, hands the ball to Dashiell, who is staring at his father in wide-eyed awe. "Ball," he breathes and lifts his arm as if to throw it back.

Kate and Castle both shout, but Kate snags the little hand before it can release, laughs at the look on daddy's face. She hears the crowd laughing around them, the whole stadium, and realizes they must still be on the screen.

"You get to keep it, kiddo," Castle says.

"Daddy caught you a foul ball," Kate says, lifting her eyes to give Castle a look. "What a stud."

He grins back, leans in close. "Don't look. We're still on camera." He presses a long, wet kiss to her mouth, hamming it up, and then leans back, grinning.

"Didn't know you had such quick reflexes, Castle," she says, glancing over at him, giving the ball back to Dash. "Don't throw it, baby. Keep it."

"Me either. But it was coming right for your head, Detective." Castle puts a hand out protectively as Dashiell studies the foul ball, hovering like he expects his son to try to throw it again.

Kate snorts. "I noticed."

"You cowered."

She glares at him. "I was not cowering. I was covering Dash's head."

"Uh-huh, sure. I'm recording the game at home. We'll look at the replay; let the officials decide."

"Not-uh. No officials are needed. No matter what it looks like, it wasn't cowering."

"Sure it wasn't." He waggles his eyebrows.

"Are you going to mark the out, or what?"

"That was just a foul."

"He struck out since then. Pay attention, stud." She smirks at him, knowing that pet names completely throw him off. And this one does. He fumbles with the pencil and score card, throws her a mean look over his shoulder.

"Just for that, I'm not telling you what I've got planned for after the game."

"News to me that we're doing *anything* after the game other than putting this one to bed."

"No bed. Ball!" Dashiell says, patting her chest with his hand, earnest and pleading. "Peas, Mommy. Ball."

"Yes, baby, we're staying for the game."

"The whole thing, buddy," Castle adds. "All 9 innings. And extra, at this rate."

It's still tied 4 to 4. Extra innings could mean Dashiell doesn't get into bed until midnight. And somehow, Kate really doesn't care. She'll be the one getting up with him in the morning, but this night is worth it.

"I do have something planned for afterwards," Castle says. "I mean, we have to do this. I've already talked to people, got it all arranged."

"What are you talking about? Castle, it's already going to be late."

"I know, but. . .seriously, it's a surprise, and you're going to love it."

"No more food."

"No. No more food."

She studies him, but there is absolutely no hint on his face. Just glee. Giddiness. Some nervous anticipation. Just like always.

"Dad, I was going to meet up with some friends after the game; they're here too." Alexis leans across Kate to look at her father. "If you don't mind."

"Um," Castle's eyebrows knit together as he looks at his daughter. "Actually, you might want to have your friends meet us instead."

Kate glances between them, sees something there that she's not getting.

"Really?" Alexis says, her eyes cutting over to Kate. "Okay. It's just a couple friends. Where should they meet us?"

"The Field Level food court is good. Maybe by the sushi place?"

"You said no food," Kate warns.

"Yeah, no. Don't worry. Just don't want to lose time searching for Alexis's friends."

Alexis starts texting Lofton; at least, Kate's assuming it's Lofton. She wonders what it is that Alexis seems to know about Castle's surprise that she doesn't.

Dashiell squirms in her lap, the baseball still held tightly against his chest, and then turns to pat her chest with his free hand. "Mom-ma."

"What?" Kate's still studying Castle, trying to figure out what he's got planned.

"Drink. Drink."

"Oh, yeah. Hold on." Kate clutches him around the waist and leans forward, fishing through the bag for his sippy cup. The outside pockets are filled with sunglasses, money, Castle's wallet (he's going to lose it unless he puts it back in his pants), a pacifier, a strange rubbery toy she doesn't recall putting in there, and a package of crackers. "Rick, do you have his water?"

Castle shoos her off, hauls the bag up to his lap, and starts going through it. Kate glances back to the game in time to see the Indians load up the bases, scowls through the next wild pitch. "Ah, come on, settle down."

The crowd is getting into it as well, making comments about the pitcher, but Colon gets the next to strike out and they're out of the sixth inning.

"I can't find it, Kate."

She glances back, frowning at him. "We had it at the park."

"I put it back in the bag," Castle adds. "Outside pocket. Let me-"

"I already checked the outside pockets. It must have fallen out." She sighs and peers forward to look in Alexis's cup of pepsi. "Hey, Alexis-"

"Yeah?"

"You've got mostly ice left. Can I give the rest to Dash?"

"Uh, sure." Alexis hands over her watered-down pepsi and wrinkles her nose. "Can he drink from a cup?"

"Not likely," Kate answers with a little laugh. "We'll have to be very careful."

Castle looks reluctant. "Let me just go buy a sippy cup, Kate. I'm sure the dugout store has a baby Yankees cup."

"That's ridiculous, Castle. You're not spending money on that." She waves him off and takes a sip of Alexis's drink, trying to see how much pepsi is actually left in it. "It's okay. It's mostly water."

Castle frowns. "Well, let me get a water bottle from the waiter at least. You give him even a little bit of pepsi. . ."

"It's just ice. It'll be fine," she insists, and shakes the cup to get the ice to settle in the bottom. "Hey Dash, want to drink out of Alexis's?"

Dash's eyes light up, and he reaches for the cup with both hands. "Me, me, me."

Kate lets him grasp the smooth sides, condensation already dripping on her jeans, and holds it carefully, steering it to his mouth.

"I do it."

"No, baby. Momma helps."

"Me, me, me."

"Dash."

He unlocks his elbows and lets her guide the edge to his lips, gently raising the cup until a trickle of water leaks out. Startled, Dash jerks back into her chest, and Kate pulls away the cup, dabbing at his chin with her other hand.

"Did you get any?"

"More!"

Castle laughs. "I don't think you had any to start with. Don't jerk away, Dash."

She puts the cup to his lips again, and this time, Dashiell doesn't try to tilt the cup himself, just lets her slowly ease it up. After a long second, his mouth open like a baby bird, water reaches his tongue. Dashiell swallows eagerly, smacking his lips around the cup, gulping it down.

"There you go. Good job, my little man." Kate repositions the cup to let a little ice meet his lips, making Dashiell gasp and sputter, but he stays at it, drinking from the cup.

"Look at you," Castle murmurs, leaning over to ruffle Dash's hair. "Like a big boy. Wow. You're not even two years old, and drinking out of a cup."

It strikes her heart funny, to hear Castle's pride and the. . .resignation in his voice. Dashiell is growing up. He's not much of a baby any more.

"Wow, he's thirsty," Alexis laughs.

"He hasn't had anything to drink since the park," Castle groans. "Great. Let me get a water bottle anyway, Kate. All you've had is beer, all I've had is beer-"

"All I've had is Pepsi," Alexis adds. "Get me one too."

"Okay, 4 waters then." He glances up and down the rows, then sighs. "I think the waiter only comes around before the game. I'll just go get it."

Kate watches Castle take the steps up to the field level, his stride lengthening, his NYPD tshirt stretching across his broad shoulders. She bites her bottom lip and focuses on Dashiell's hands around hers on the cup, his fingers wrapped around two of hers, squeezing like he's excited.

She pulls the cup back, tilts her head to look at his face. He's excited all right; he's thrilled. His whole face is a crazy grin, his eyes shining.

"Good, buddy?"

"Me, me, me!"

"Daddy's getting you more. This is just ice, kiddo."

He grunts his disapproval and reaches for the cup, but his eyes catch the baseball game and instantly, he's distracted. He leans back against her chest, loose and heavy in her arms, watching the game again.

Kate carefully maneuvers the cup to the floor beside her chair, out of Dash's view, and wraps her arms around him. His shirt front is soaking wet, so he probably drank less water than she thinks, but his belly is full, round under her hands.

It's a warm night, and soon they're both a little sweaty, his weight damp against her. Kate brushes her hand along his forehead, pushing the limp curls out his eyes, leans down to kiss his cheek.

"You like baseball, my wild man?"

"Mm," Dash hums, reaching an arm up to curl around her neck. "Ball."

"Yeah, baseball. Fun, huh?"

His fingers twirl in her hair, scratchy and wet, incredibly sweet. She closes her eyes for a second, jumps when she feels a different hand brush across her cheek.

Castle laughs. "Water." He passes one to Alexis and pops the top off another bottle, hands it to her. She straightens up, pulling Dash's hand out of her hair, and takes the water, smiling at him.

"Thanks."

"Wow, that's just about the best smile I've ever seen," he says softly, and leans in to kiss her. Castle tastes like cold water, but his mouth is hot, and she wishes her hands were free to touch him.

"Drink, Momma."

They break apart slowly, reluctance on Castle's face, and Kate takes a sip of the water before offering it to Dash.

"Want to try out of a bottle?" She puts it to his lips.

"I don't think-"

Before Castle can finish his warning, water has drenched Dashiell's front. He sputters, even his eyelashes somehow wet, laughing, and reaches for more.

Kate lifts the bottle away, hands it back to Castle. "Oh, whoa, wait a second. We'll put some water in the cup for you." He's starting to soak her shirt as well. "Castle. I need your help."

He's already got a diaper cloth pulled out of the bag, hands it to her, takes Dashiell so she can mop up the water from the seat.

Her shirt is plastered to her; Kate lifts it a little, tries to air it out, both sweat and spilled water. Using the diaper cloth, she manages to get up most of the water in her seat, off her chest and stomach, then turns and tries to use it like a sponge on Dashiell's shirt.

"No, wait. I'll just take it off him." Castle starts wrestling Dash out of his jersey, unbuttoning it, then peels it off the wriggling boy. "Hold still, buddy."

Kate wipes him down, takes the shirt, spreads it out over the table in front of them in hopes that it will dry in the next two innings. People are starting to get up, mill around, the organ is pumping out music.

"Oh hey, seventh inning stretch. Gotta stand up," Castle says, and hauls Dashiell up with him.

Kate wipes Dashiell's face off with the diaper cloth, then lays it out next to Dash's shirt. She grabs the water bottle, now half empty, and pours a little into the bottom of the souvenir cup. His pale belly still damp with water, Dashiell drinks a little from the cup while she holds it, standing next to Castle.

Alexis leans over. "I'm gonna go meet Lofton. I'll be back for the top of the 8th."

Castle opens his mouth like he's going to protest, but Kate elbows him and smiles. "Sounds good. Got your phone?"

"Yeah."

"Be safe." Kate pushes Alexis out, the girl crawling past Dashiell and Castle to get to the steps. "It's only half an inning, Castle. Calm down."

He closes his mouth and watches Alexis until she reaches the top of the stairs, disappears onto the field level concourse.

"She'll be fine."

"I know," he sighs.


	31. Chapter 31

With two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning, still tied, the Yankees put a man on base. The whole crowd gets to their feet, cheering and yelling, and Castle lifts Dashiell in his arms so he can watch Teixeira trot to first on a walk.

Kate, breathless and electric at his side, watches Alex Rodriguez step inside the batter's box. Castle glances over at her, filled up with her, the joy of her, and can't help think that she comes home with him tonight. Kate. Kate Beckett comes home with him. She whistles, claps her hands along with the crowd, cheering on A-Rod. Her hair has come undone at some point, and she's just let it loose over her shoulders, brilliant and rich in the stadium lights. She must feel the intensity of his stare, because she turns to him with a grin, and her eyes make him catch fire. He has to look away.

Alexis is practically jumping up and down on her other side, her phone in one hand. Castle wonders who she's been texting all night, hopes he's going to get a chance to meet this guy in a few minutes. He's not stupid; he knew from the moment Alexis said she wanted to go meet some friends that she was meeting up with a boy. That and the look on Kate's face.

The crowd hisses at the umpire for a called strike, and Castle looks back to the action. In his arms, Dashiell is trying to practically climb Castle's torso to see, both arms wrapping around his father's head. He loosens Dash's hands and hikes the kid up onto his shoulders, keeping him in place by clamping his hands on the boy's thighs. Dash grabs Castle's hair, shrieking with laughter, or maybe just cheering.

Kate glances at them, startles into a laugh, and pulls out her phone. She frames them up and takes a picture, then shows it to Castle.

"See, see!" Dash yells, but he won't let go of his death grip on Castle's hair to reach for it. Kate holds it up to his face and Dash bounces against Castle's shoulders. "Me! Me, Momma!"

"Yup, that's you on Daddy's shoulders."

The crowd boos again, catching their attention, and Castle notes that the count is full. Rodriguez steps out, takes a long look to the third base coach for the sign, pounds his bat against his cleats to knock the dirt out. He spits over his shoulder, rubs his cheek against the sleeve of his jersey, adjusts his batting helmet once, twice, three times. He tugs on his batting gloves, re-fastens them, takes hold of the bat and then taps it against home plate.

A-Rod steps back into the batter's box, giving a hard look at his bat. He gives a few practice swings, pointing the bat, getting the rhythm, and then settles in for the pitch.

Chris Perez, the Indians' closer, takes a long look down the mound, straightens up to get set. In the stretch, Perez looks the base runner back to first, goes into his wind-up, and fires a pitch.

Rodriguez waits for it, balances himself on his back foot, and steps into his swing. The bat smacks into the ball, sending it flying; the crowd is screaming, and they all lose sight of the ball in the lights.

Everyone's running. The outfielder is racing towards the hole. The crowd holds its breath, finds the ball again as it clears the lights, picks up its small, round radiance as it sails over the outfielder's head.

Tumult. The crowd is going crazy. Castle yells, Kate whistles piercingly, Dash is banging his hands against the top of his father's head. Teixeira is already rounding third; he's not going to stop. The outfielder runs down the ball, scoops it up, and fires it like a missile past his cut-off man, aiming for the catcher.

The crowd gasps as one, watches Teixiera barreling down the baseline, watches the ball arc towards Santana, the Indians catcher, waits for the inevitable home plate collision.

Dashiell's hands are gripped tightly in Castle's hair; Kate grabs his arm, her nails in his bicep, on her toes at his side.

Santana catches the throw; he's blocking the plate. Teixiera puts a shoulder down and charges forward, full steam, and rams into the catcher. A mad scramble. The two men jumbled up, a hand slapping home plate, the glove coming up with the ball, the players separating, still in the dirt, rolling apart. Teixiera stumbles to his feet; the catcher shows the ump the ball.

Kate's hand tightens. Dashiell squeezes Castle's neck with his knees.

The umpire is waving his arms wide: safe, safe, safe.

Safe at home. The crowd cheers wildly; Kate turns and gives him a huge hug, her grin infectious. "Yankees win!" Dashiell lunges for her; Kate manages to catch him before the kid twists Castle's neck, she hugs him tightly, their son lifting his arms over his head in victory, babbling his joy.

Alexis leans across them and high-fives her father; they cheer and applaud the Yankees as the team pours out of the dugout. Rodriguez and Teixiera are getting punched and jumped on by their team mates; the Indians are slinking off the field.

"Walk off in the ninth inning!" Castle crows, hugging Alexis, grinning from ear to ear. The crowd has started chanting "A-Rod! A-Rod!" and he joins, laughing when he hears Dashiell trying to mimic them.

Kate lets Dashiell stand on the table, the boy bending his knees and bobbing his head like he's dancing. Castle hears Kate let out another whistle, and he reaches for Dash's jersey, still laid out on the table to dry, and decides he needs to wrestle the kid back into it.

It's still incredibly damp, but the kid will survive. Castle shakes it out and slides Dash's arms through the sleeves even while Dash is celebrating, then starts buttoning up the jersey. Kate is gathering their stuff, cramming it back into the bag, and hands him his wallet.

"Ooh, yeah. Forgot. Thanks." He shoves it into his back pocket, adjusts Dash's shirt, then scoops him up. "We ready?"

Alexis is texting; she glances up. "Lofton's going to meet us at the elevators, Dad."

"You told him which ones?"

"Wait, elevators?" Kate snags his shirt. "What elevators?"

"Is it just Lofton?" Castle asks, ignoring her.

"Yeah, his friends are going home. I wouldn't let him tell, and they decided to head out."

Castle gives her a look, then glances back to Kate. She looks over her shoulder at Alexis, and Castle sees his daughter blush. Yeah, something definitely going on there.

"So, Alexis and Lofton both know what we're doing, but I don't?" Kate reaches out to smooth down Dashiell's sweaty hair, giving Castle a narrow look. "How is this fair?"

"It's a surprise, Kate." Castle adjusts Dash, then reaches out for Kate's hand, gripping it tightly. "Everyone together?"

Alexis raises her hand twined around Kate's, Kate squeezes his hand in confirmation, and Castle begins making his way up the stairs to the concourse level, his family holding hands in a row behind him.

* * *

><p>He leads them through the main concourse and they cluster around him, Alexis on one side, Kate still holding his hand on the other. Dashiell, though still awake, has leaned his head against his father's shoulder, clearly worn out. Castle rubs Dashiell's back and kisses the boy's forehead.<p>

"Hey, let's browse in the dugout store before we leave," Kate says, tugging on his hand.

"Uh, not right now," Castle says, pulling her the other way.

She blinks, looking back over her shoulder at the fans streaming into the store, then gives him a funny look. "What are you up to, Castle?"

"You'll find out."

"Oh, there's Lofton!" Alexis darts forward, waving to a guy (not boys anymore, but guys, now) standing against the brick beside the elevators.

"That's Lofton?" Castle hisses at Kate. "He's. . .old!"

She gives him a look. "Look who's talking. And no, Castle. He's not old. He's in college. She's in college too, you know."

"Low blow, Kate."

"You deserve it. Be nice." She snags his elbow, pinching his skin. "I'm serious, Richard Castle. You be nice to Lofton."

"Is that his first name or his last name?"

"First."

"Oh, seriously? Who does that? Who names their kid-"

"His parents are Indians fans. He's an Indians fan. They named him for Kenny Lofton."

"I feel truly sorry for him-Lofton! So nice to finally meet you." Castle turns on the charm, tugging his arm away from Kate as she tries to pinch him again. "Glad you could join us."

"Yeah, wow. Thank you so much for-"

Alexis elbows him, jerking her head towards Kate. Castle gives him an evil look while the boy's not watching; if he accidentally ruined Castle's surprise. . .

Alexis glares daggers at her father, and Castle returns the smile back to his face. He holds out a hand to shake Lofton's, introduces Dashiell. His son barely makes a sound, his chin on Castle's shoulder and his eyes watching people stream for the exits.

"And this is my-" Alexis stumbles, then shrugs. "My mom. Kate. Kate, this is Lofton."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Castle."

Castle laughs, and Kate elbows him. "Just call me Kate. I'll let Alexis explain it to you later."

And that makes Castle laugh even harder, taking Kate's hand in his as he tries to control his mirth. "Ah, yeah. I like that. Smooth, Kate. All right, are we ready to go?"

"Yes!" Dashiell says suddenly, popping his head up.

"Good boy. Glad to see you're still with us, wild man." Castle heads for the glass double doors beside the public access elevator. When he opens them, an attendant just inside the door asks for his ID.

Kate digs his wallet out of his pocket for him, passes it over to Castle. He fishes out his license and gives it to the attendant, who then checks it against a list.

"All right, sir. I believe Ms. Wright is waiting for you on level 4."

He takes his ID back, hands it and his wallet to Kate, and leads them down the hallway and to an entirely different bank of elevators.

"Are we going to the press box?" Kate asks, shoving his license into his wallet and tucking it back into his pocket. She also lets her fingers wriggle against him, making him give her a long, heated look, but she just grins slyly back at him.

Of course, it is for just that reason that he wanted her to put his wallet back. She doesn't disappoint.

"Actually, no. Not the press box."

Her face falls a little, but he grins at her. "Press box is 3. We're up another floor."

It takes her a second, but she gets it. Kate's face glows; she stops in the middle of the hallway, slapping his arm. "The general manager's box? Are you serious?"

"Are you coming?" he says, a few feet ahead of her, Alexis and Lofton already at the elevator.

"Oh my gosh, Castle. Are you serious?"

"See us, Daddy?" Dashiell chimes in.

"I'm serious."

Kate catches up to them at the elevators, laughing with him, a hand over her mouth, her eyes lighting up like a little kid. Like Dashiell's did when they carried him into the stadium.

He presses 5 for the GM's box, watching Kate the whole ride up. She doesn't say anything else, but she's even more excited than Lofton (who is obviously an Indians fan, and Castle is a little ticked at Alexis for inviting him, but he just hopes the kid has manners, and realizes what an honor this is).

The elevator opens up and June Wright is on the other side, talking on her cell phone as she waits for them. She hangs up the second she sees them, strides over to Castle with her hand out.

"Richard Castle. I am so delighted you called us!" She shakes his hand, kisses his cheek, and turns to the rest of the group. She looks cool and professional in her grey pencil skirt and purple blouse, her hair pulled back. She has a Yankees pin in the buttonhole of her shirt. "Is this your family?"

"Ah, this is my wife, Kate Beckett-"

"Oh, yes, the Detective. I am so honored to meet you, Detective Beckett."

Oh yeah, wow. He forgot just how great June Wright is at her job, making everyone feel immediately at ease, saying just the right things. Kate is smiling politely back and allowing June to hug her (huge step for Kate), and then June turns to Alexis.

"Alexis, darling, you are a beauty! When was the last time I saw you?"

"I think I was 12?" Alexis says, grinning and reaching out to hug June as well. "You look exactly the same. So good to see you again."

"How old are you now?"

"I'm almost 21."

"Oh my word, Richard, your daughter is almost 21!" She claps a hand over her mouth and shakes her head. "And who is this?"

"Oh, this is my friend, Lofton. He's an Indians fan," Alexis admits.

June shakes a finger at Lofton. "He's not going to be happy to see you."

Lofton's face falls. "Oh. Oh man. I-"

"Just kidding, Lofton. Come on. He's the general manager of the Yankees. I think he can take it," June says, winking at him. "In fact, I bet he can help you out as well."

Castle is pleased to see that June has remembered not to let on to Kate what this is really all about.

"And who's the little guy?"

"This is Dashiell."

"Hey there, Dashiell. Did you have fun at the game, buddy?" June strokes his little hand and Dashiell, completely unlike himself, hides his face in his father's neck.

"I think he had a blast," Castle answers.

June begins ushering them towards the wide, solid cherry doors of the General Manager's suite. "Mr. Cashman will be so glad to see you, Richard."

Brian Cashman, the Yankees General Manager, opens the door himself before June even gets to it. Thin face, receding hairline, dressed in a white dress shirt with blue pinstripes, at only 43 years old Brian Cashman looks like a New York City boy made good. He wears a Yankees lanyard around his neck with his credentials, even though everyone in the organization knows him, and he's putting away his cell phone, smiling at them.

"Richard, good to see you again. Been too long." Brian holds out his hand, shaking it firmly, giving Castle a solid thump on his back. "And here's Alexis. Wow. You have grown up."

"Hi, Mr. Cashman," Alexis says, smiling at him.

"Brian, let me introduce you to my wife. This is Kate-"

"I know all about Detective Beckett. Kate, a pleasure," he says and gives her a little bow over their clasped hands. "I read that article in GQ."

"There was an article in GQ?" Kate says, looking at Castle.

"Ah, awhile ago, Kate. Just a little one."

She glares at him, and Brian laughs. "Sorry to put you in the doghouse, Richard. And this one?"

"Ah, the sleepy one is my son, Dashiell."

"Hey buddy, already a Yankees fan, right?"

Dash blinks at him and then leans over to Kate. "Momma."

Castle lets him go as Kate scoops him up. "Brian, you mind taking us down?"

"Not a bit. I just called down to the equipment manager, and he's all set."

"Down?" Kate says, turning to Castle in astonishment. "Equipment manager? Castle-"

"You want to meet the players, Kate?"


	32. Chapter 32

Kate Beckett is sitting in Joe Girardi's office. Kate Beckett is sitting across the desk from Joe freakin' Girardi. And while he's not Joe Torre, Joe Girardi is still the manager of the freakin' New York Yankees.

Holy crap.

She's sitting on her hands to keep them from shaking. Or making stupid gestures when Girardi asks her a question. Cashman sits to her right. The equipment manager, Rob Cucuzza, sits on her other side. Castle is standing at the back of the room holding Dash, letting her do all the talking (why is he doing that to her?).

Alexis and Lofton were escorted to the visitors' locker room so that Lofton can meet the Indians. Castle wasn't happy, but the Yanks have a rule about their clubhouse: no rival team gear inside. As soon as Cucuzza said he could get Lofton in to see the Indians players, Alexis gave Castle a don't mess this up look and offered to go with him.

Kate managed (she doesn't know how she had the mental capacity for this) to step on Castle's insole as he opened his mouth to protest the move. He let her go off down the hall with Lofton, the boy over the moon about meeting his favorite team.

Kate's feeling a little over the moon as well. Castle keeps giving her this smirk though, and it does help reel her back in. Sometimes.

"Detective Beckett-"

"It's Kate," she says softly, hoping that came across as a smile.

Girardi smiles back. "The Yankees organization officially thanked the NYPD for their tireless efforts on behalf of our family in the death of Cano Vega, but we never got a chance to personally thank you."

"Oh." She expected to feel a little awkward and stupid, Castle's third wife, and here's Girardi acting grateful that she's come.

"You did us a huge service. Bobby Fox was an agent to a couple of our guys, and believe me, that struck deep."

"I'm sorry for your loss," she says, simply, quietly, something of her training and experience finally kicking in. "Vega was a great player and a good man."

Girardi is nodding. "We're opening our doors to you, Detective, because you did us this service, because you serve our city, and because it's an honor to spread some joy to people like yourself, who work so hard for us, often without any recognition."

Holy crap. She's going to pass out if she doesn't breathe. "Tha-thank you."

"It helps, of course, that Rick's an old friend of Mr. Torre's, of Brian's here-"

Brian Cashman shares a grin with Girardi, like they have some inside joke about Joe Torre. And then she realizes they probably do. And she sucks in another shallow breath to keep her heart going. If she squeaks, she's going to die. She will absolutely die if she acts like an idiot.

"But it is truly an honor, Detective."

"Kate." She nods to him. "It's Kate."

He smiles back. "As soon as the guys are relatively decent, we'll let you through."

Kate Beckett is sitting in Joe Girardi's office, not twenty feet from the Yankees locker room. Twenty freakin' feet. From the Yankees.

"All right, Kate." Cucuzza stands, holsters his walkie talkie. It's turned down so low that she wonders how he can hear anything distinct in the garble. "Looks like the guys are ready."

Holy crap. She can't stand up.

Castle reaches down and puts a hand on her upper arm, hauls her to her feet. She gives him a grateful look, pats Dash on the leg more for her own reassurance, and tries to follow Cucuzza out of Girardi's office. She's having trouble making her legs work until Castle pokes her in the back.

"Nice meeting you, Kate," Girardi says at the door, shaking her hand. "The organization will always remember what you did for us."

She shakes his hand automatically, stammering through a reply. "It's-it's my job. But thank you, thank you. I-I had help." She mentally groans. How stupid. _I had help?_ Seriously? And can she not even let go of the poor man's hand?

Castle leans in from behind her, a hand on her shoulder in a Vulcan death grip that makes her release Girardi's hand, her fingers tingling. Thankfully.

"She had me," Castle says, grinning at Girardi. "And of course, the rest of her team, Ryan and Esposito. But it was mostly me."

Castle's ego has once again smoothed the way, distracted the room from Kate's terrible awkward awe. This is why she loves his ego. Good to remember on the days she hates his ego, of course. But right now, she could kiss him.

Instead, she takes Dashiell from Castle's arms, needing something *not* stupid to do with her hands. Castle glances at her in surprise as Girardi gives a polite laugh, ushering them out of his office. Probably in relief, having his office back again.

Cashman stays behind with Girardi while Cucuzza leads them down the long, cinderblock hallway in the bowels of Yankee Stadium. Dashiell is so tired that his face is smashed against Kate's neck, his breathing deep and slow, his body limp. Castle puts his hand at her lower back as they walk, as if she might need guidance.

She might. She really might. The Yankees. . .holy mother of. . .it's just not possible that Richard Castle has gotten them access to the Yankees locker room. Where the Yankees players currently are. Where she will be in a matter of seconds.

"Now, the guys will still be giving interviews to press, tv, all that. Don't walk in front of a camera, don't ask a guy a question while he's talking, even if it looks like he's just shooting the breeze with some guy; it's probably one of the traveling team reporters. Otherwise, no rules. Oh," Cucuzza glances over his shoulder at her. She's not sure whether he's looking at her or Dash. "Might be some. . .objectionable behavior. Up to you."

Castle snickers at her ear and she elbows him. "I work in the NYPD. I think I'll be fine." She gives Cucuzza a faint smile, not sure that she can actually make her lips do what she tells them to. Kinda numb.

Dashiell is getting heavy. They come to a set of steel double doors. Already, Kate can hear laughing, shouting, talking, the buzz of male voices celebrating. It actually does sound like the locker room at the police academy, except a little more jubilant.

Castle leans over and takes Dashiell away from her, leaving her hands empty. Cucuzza opens one of the doors and ushers her inside.

* * *

><p>The best part about his money is this. Right here. Watching someone he loves be overcome by something they never thought possible. Against his shoulder, Dashiell has perked up a bit too, watches his mother act starstruck as Cucuzza introduces her.<p>

Castle is also pleased that Cucuzza is calling her Detective Beckett, reminding the guys of the Vega murder, informing them that this is the woman who got his killer. It makes Castle proud, and it seems easier on Kate as well. He knows she hates being known as just another one of his wives, third in a long line.

Not that he's ever brought them here to meet Yankees players. Just he and Alexis alone did that, back when his daughter was ten or so and completely in love with one of the players. At that time, he got to play the cool dad, but as soon as he was faced with these guys, he acted pretty stupid and starstruck himself.

Thankfully, he's met a few of them before, charity events and stuff, and he's getting more enjoyment out of watching Kate than really focusing on his own excitement, so he's not doing too bad. He has a couple of friends here too, a trainer he met, a player; one of the reporters nods to him.

Castle sees her talking to Teixiera about his play at home; her joy beams out of her eyes, radiates from her face. How can every man in this locker room not want her right now? The amazing thing is, even surrounded by all these fit athletes, he's not even worried. His caveman instincts are quiet. She's surrounded by guys, all of them better specimens than himself, but he's just. . .enjoying it.

Well, because she looks like a little kid. Beautiful and sexy make an appearance of course, but it's mostly this child-like wonder on her face, shyness mixed with awe. He could watch her forever.

And then the guys notice him watching. They start elbowing him, throwing out little comments, in general acting like guys in a locker room. Castle hasn't had much of this kind of companionship, but he recognizes Esposito and Ryan's attitude in their behavior. At his various boarding schools, it was a lot more cruelty, a lot less camaraderie. But essentially the same.

Castle lets Dashiell get down when he starts wriggling, but the boy doesn't go far. Instead he stays rooted in one spot and cranes his neck to watch Romero Pena, an outfielder, pull on a shirt, shove his legs into some street clothes. When Pena starts threading on a belt, Dashiell's attention moves to Pena's locker, where interesting items have been left.

When Dash heads straight for the pile of dirty laundry at the bottom of Pena's locker, Castle darts forward and scoops him up again, trying to redirect his attention.

Russell Martin, the Yankees everyday catcher, also happens to be a friend of Rick's, despite their age differences, and he comes to Castle's rescue. "Hey, my man. Dashiell, right? What a cute kid." He's still in his uniform pants and the Underarmour shirt that goes on under the jersey, reeking of dirt and sweat.

"How's the back, J?" Castle asks. Martin had _J. Martin_ printed on his jersey last year in reference to his middle name, Jeanson, (also his mother's maiden name) and as on homage to his mother. So then, of course, they all started called him J.

"Tweaked," he grumbles. "Trainers working on me now. Wanted to come over and see your kid, though. Meet your wife." Martin raises his eyebrows and glances over at Kate.

"Uh-huh," Castle says. "I'm sure you did, horn-dog. Dashiell, this is Russell Martin. But he likes to be called J."

"J!" Dashiell crows, easily latching on to the last thing Castle said. "J, J, J."

"Great, thanks man. Hey, I was gonna ask you. Remember that girl you were telling me about?"

"When was this?"

"At the physical therapist's office. When you pulled your back. Um, I think it was right after Dashiell was born?"

"Oh yeah. I do remember." He grins at J and slaps him on the shoulder. "You want me to fix you guys up?"

"Would you? I kinda. . .I just had a bad experience. And these guys. . .they're great. But they only know other baseball bunnies or their wives' friends."

Castle laughs and squeezes J's shoulder. "You know, she *is* one of my wife's friends. And older than you."

"She's one of Kate's friends?" J glances up at Kate again, making Castle squeeze a little harder. What was he saying before, about not going caveman? Right, yeah. That little moment is over.

"She's maybe four years older than you. Six. I can't remember. She's Kate's age."

"Kate's hot."

"Oh yeah?"

"Ow, dude, lay off." J shrugs off Castle's grip and punches him in the chest. "I just mean, her friends are probably hot too, right?"

"Name's Madison. She owns a restaurant. She's hilarious. I really think you guys would be a good match."

"Whew, for a second, I thought you were going to say she has a good personality-" Castle punches him back. "But a good match? Oh, that definitely makes me want to meet her." J's rolling his eyes at Castle.

"Come on, man. You asked. And while no one but Kate is ever really hot, yeah, she's hot."

Martin grins at him. "Sap. But yeah, yeah. I do. Really. She won't be. . .starstruck?"

"Nope. She knows Rocco."

"That chef dude?"

"Yeah. And other famous people. She knows *me.*"

J laughs, a little longer than Castle thinks it necessary, and then reaches over to offer Dashiell a palm.

"High-five buddy."

Dashiell sits up a little and high-fives Martin, sticking his chest out proudly.

"Oh, hey. Let me get Jetes. He'll sign that jersey for ya. He's good with the kids."

"Are you serious?"

"Starstruck, Mr. Famous Wrtier?-"

Castle punches his arm. "Go get your famous baseball player friend." Martin waves him off and heads down the line towards the back of the locker room, looking for Jeter.

Castle makes his way towards Kate, breaking through the group to touch her elbow. She glances over at him with a grin unfurled across her face, but it only deepens when she's him, like a hook tugging in his gut. He finds it hard to breathe for a second, then remembers why he's here.

"Martin is going to bring Derek Jeter over here to sign Dashiell's jersey. I thought you might want to see that."

"Oh. Wow." The guys around her don't move away, which just shows they all have great taste, Castle thinks, but they do back up a little and let Martin lead Jeter straight to them.

Castle is holding Dashiell against his chest and the second Jeter stands in front of them, Dashiell reaches out both arms to the man.

"Carry you."

For a second, Jeter looks confused, but then he grabs the kid and lifts him out of Castle's arms. Kate smacks Castle in the chest, but Jeter is smiling. Castle rubs at his pec, certain it's going to be bruised in the morning.

"I don't think I've ever had a kid want me to pick them up." Jeter laughs, bounces Dashiell like he's a baby, a hand patting his back. "Hey, man, what's your name?"

Dashiell is riveted. Castle speaks up. "That's Dashiell. He's almost two."

"Dashiell. Great name. Hey Alex!" Jeter calls over his shoulder, bringing Alex Rodriguez away from a bevy of reporters still trying to make their deadlines. A couple of the team reporters follow him, glancing at the little group with interest.

"Hey man. What's up."

"Remember when Vega was killed? This is the detective who got Fox." Jeter lifts a finger and points at Kate. Castle can see the shock race across her face, quickly hidden, that Jeter has even remembered. His pride instantly fills his chest, like he has something to do with Kate's ability, like her being his wife has something to do with it.

"Thanks for all you do, Detective," Rodriguez shakes her hand. "This your kid?"

"Yeah. Our son," Kate manages, stepping closer to Castle. He doesn't think, in the whole time he's ever known Kate Beckett, that she's ever stepped closer to him for any reason other than an instinctive move to protect him. This time, it looks like she's stepping closer to him for *his* protection.

So he does what he can. "I'm Rick Castle." He shakes both of their hands, smiles. "Great game tonight. It's Dashiell's first Yankees game, and wow, he was pretty impressed. We've never seen him so entranced."

That has the whole room grinning. A-Rod and Jeter are making a big deal of things, Castle thinks. He wonders if it's just trying to get good press, remake their image a little. In the past, the two supposedly had a rivalry going. And Rodriguez has been accused of being too demanding in the clubhouse; he's admitted to using banned substances in the past. Oh. . .and wasn't there some other scandals? Madonna. Call girls.

Yeah, so this is for show. He's pretty sure. But he doesn't even care, because both of them are doing everything they can to be nice, friendly, easy-going guys. And Kate's warming slowly to them, throwing in a couple comments. He does notice that she's not teasing them, not even flirting. He wonders if she's just that self-conscious or if it's something else.

Jeter borrows a permanent marker from Cucuzza, who's still around, and puts Dashiell down on a bench to sign his jersey. Dashiell tries to wriggle away from the touch of the marker, and the fingers gripping his shoulder, but Castle squats down in front of him and holds him still, keeping him distracted until Jeter is done.

Kate thanks him, smiling, says something about the game. But Castle gets stuck keeping Dashiell still while the guys come by, one after another, and sign Dashiell's jersey as well. Apparently, Jeter has passed the pen around and they all figure they're supposed to.

Holy crap. Dashiell will never wear this jersey again. Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter, all these amazing baseball players are just coming by, single-file, saying a couple words or saying nothing, signing Dashiell's back. After a few minutes, the guys are done and Castle lets Dash up. The boy immediately gets down and starts crawling on the floor. Castle winces, but lets him go, keeping an eye on him.

Martin slides up next to him. "A couple of the guys wanted me to tell you they're sorry."

Castle glances at him in surprise. "What for?"

Martin is grinning. "A-Rod, the idiot, told them that your kid was sick. Dying or something."

Castle barks out in laughter, leaning back against the lockers to keep from falling over. "Are you kidding me?"

"I told 'em. Don't worry."

"Oh my gosh, Kate is going to love that."

"Some of them had the idea that Kate arrested Alex, but she agreed to drop the charges so long as she could come meet everyone."

"Hey, that's not funny," Castle says, straightening up. "That makes her sound crooked."

"Naw, man, I told them it was for Vega. They got it. We'll have a debrief tomorrow anyway. Cucuzza will remind us you guys were here and why. They always do that, make sure we don't say something stupid to our agents or the press."

"Oh. Well. Good. Sorry those guys thought they were doing some kind of cancer patient thing." Castle chuckles again. "And seriously, man, you've got to meet Madison. You're a good guy, if a little annoying."

"Do I say thanks to that, or what? Butthead. You're lucky your son is right here, otherwise. . ."

"Sure, sure." Castle's saved from a beatdown, but he *can* hear a lot of colorful words though.

He glances over at the end of the bench where Dashiell has been captured by another player, a utility outfielder named Gardner. Castle heads over and rescues Gardner from Dashiell's slow exploration of the man's glove. He stands up with Dashiell in his arms, Martin still at his side.

Kate is looking for him; he can tell by the way her eyes slowly scan through the crowd of faces, never settling. It's how she looks for him at the release parties, straight-backed, elegant, calm. Never once doubting that he'll be there.

He waits until she finds him, then smiles, lifting his chin. She parts the seas of players and reporters and trainers, finds a place at his side.

"Hey there, guys. Dashiell, did you get your shirt signed by all these baseball players?"

"Momma," he whines and lifts his hands to her. Kate takes him, cuddling him as the boy buries his face in her neck.

"You guys ready?" Cucuzza says, appearing over Martin's shoulder. "Your daughter and her friend are out by the elevators, waiting."

"Yeah. Thank you so much," Kate says, grinning again. "This has been. . .amazing. Please thank them all for us."

"Thank you, sir," Castle says, shaking Cucuzza's hand. "I really appreciate it."

"Oh, hey, I'll follow you guys out," Martin says. "Your daughter is what? 21?"

Castle elbows him while Kate gives them both a startled look.

"Kate, this is J, you know, Russell Martin. He's the one I was telling you about, setting him up with Madison."

Kate lets loose a slow, feral grin. "Ah. That's. . .perfect."

J holds up both his hands. "Why do I get the feeling that I've really walked into it?"

The group starts following Cucuzza back out of the locker room, down the long hallway. Castle claps a hand on J's shoulder. "Because you have. You really have."

Cucuzza leaves them at the door, and J walks out with them. Dashiell, his jersey nearly black with all the signatures, is drooping in Kate's arms. Lofton and Alexis are just outside the doors, waiting on them.

"Oh my gosh, Dad!" Alexis squeals and hugs him tightly. "We got to meet the Indians!"

"Hey now, not in my presence," Martin jokes. "And you are?"

"Oh, seriously?" Castle grumbles. "J, this is Alexis. Alexis this is-"

"Russell Martin, the Yankees catcher!" Lofton says, his voice rising, hand reaching out to wildly pump Martin's. "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh."

"Yeah, man. But I'm kinda digging on your girl here." Martin shakes his hand off and turns back to Alexis.

"No, you are not," Castle says.

"Chill, Rick." Martin gives him a sly grin and elbows him again. "Just yanking your chain. Seriously. This girl. Madison. Give me her number."

Before Castle can say anything, Kate cuts in. "Why don't we give Madison your number instead."

Martin pauses; Castle cracks a wide grin at Kate, nodding his head. "Yeah. That's more like it. We'll do that. Let *you* wait for awhile."

"You're busting my balls, man." Martin crosses his arms, glares at Castle for a moment. "What the hell. Okay."

"Heow, heow, okay?" Dashiell parrots, lifting his head up from his mother's shoulder.

"Oh, jeez. Thanks, Martin. You're already a terrible influence on my son," Castle tags his shoulder but gives him a grin. "I'll let you know about the poker game too."

"Yes. Definitely. Thanks guys. Kate, a pleasure. Dashiell, nice meeting you, my man. Get better." He receives another sock in the arm from Castle. "Guys, nice to meet you."

Martin heads back inside the locker room, leaving their family out in the hallway.

Alexis is the first to break the awed silence that hangs over them. "What did he mean? Get better?"

Kate shifts Dashiell again, so Castle reaches down and takes him. "Uh. Yeah."

"I heard a couple guys in there say that too. What does that mean?" Kate says, rubbing at her shoulder.

"Long story."


	33. Chapter 33

Kate offers to put Dashiell to bed, not because she's feeling magnanimous towards Castle, but because she's feeling selfish. Her little boy cuddles against her the whole way home, sleepy enough to be sweet, winding his fingers in her hair. She doesn't really want to let go of him.

Before she can start upstairs, Castle tugs off Dashiell's shoes at the door and drops them next to the small pile by the entry table. Then he takes the bag from his shoulder and pulls out the foul ball he caught during the game. Kate forgot about the ball entirely, but it looks like Castle got it signed. "Martin asked Jeter to sign it, and he did. After you change him, bring his jersey downstairs, and I'll get both of these put in some kind of a display case. We can hang it in his room."

Kate raises an eyebrow. "His room? We can put it in *our* room." She turns as if to leave, then remembers Martin. "Wait a second. You and Martin. Good friends?"

"Acquaintances. We go to the same physical therapist. Remember when I messed up my back?"

Kate grins at him. "Oh I do."

He lifts an eyebrow, but his eyes go dark and feral. "It was your fault."

"Stay on track, Castle. Russell Martin."

"Same doctor, yeah. Met him in the waiting room. He actually recognized me."

She laughs. "Match made in heaven. Does he play poker with you? I heard you say-"

"Oh, no. Actually that's a joke." Castle grins at her and leans a hip against the entry table. "He lost something like ten thousand dollars in Vegas on Texas Hold 'Em. So I told him we needed another warm body for poker."

"Nice." She grins at him and leans in to kiss his lips, tasting salt and beer and excitement. "Mm. I liked him though. He got Jeter to come over and talk with us. I think you really should give Madison his number."

He looks pleased with himself. "Yeah, I thought that was a good one too. I could be good at setting people up. I mean, there's you and me. Lanie and Esposito-" She snorts, and he glares at her. "Hey, I totally called that one."

"You did not," she says, rolling her eyes.

Dashiell, not yet asleep, lifts his head long enough to pat Kate on the chest. "Night, night, Momma. Night, night."

Kate's jaw drops. Castle claps a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter while Kate stares down at her son. She can't look at Castle; she'll never recover.

"Of course, baby. Night, night." She starts up the stairs, throwing Castle a look over her shoulder. He shrugs, grinning, and tosses the ball up in the air, fails to catch it. The ball lands with a thunk on the wooden floor, rolls away somewhere.

Dashiell's head comes up to look at Castle over his mother's shoulder.

"Yeah, Daddy's being stupid, baby."

"Ball," he says back, tilting his head to look at her.

"Baseball is all over. Daddy shouldn't play baseball in the house."

"Ball ower, Daddy," he sighs, but can't get the energy to keep his head up. His eyes are heavy, his lids sliding down, his eyelashes dark and spiky against his cheek.

"Ball over, Daddy," she whispers and takes the last step, then eases down the hallway. It's dark inside the apartment. Alexis rode home with them in the taxi but stayed downstairs to meet up with some friends from the city, so there aren't any lights on up here either.

At Dashiell's room, she pushes open the door and waits a moment for her eyes to adjust to the absolute black. Dashiell's lips are slack against the side of her neck, leaving a warm, wet trail. He shudders on a long sighing breath, and she feels his whole body go limp into sleep.

"Oh, night, night baby."

She stands in the embrace of his dark room, holding Dashiell close, listening to his slow breaths, not wanting to give it up. The sleepy boy, the baseball game, the players, the gratitude. None of it. She wants to keep it forever.

She tries to memorize this night, like a talisman against future frustration. The weight of her son against her chest and arms, so heavy. The feel of the cinderblock hallway as they headed to the Yankees locker room, powder and paint. The laughter of the guys from outside that door, and then from inside that door. The grin on Castle's face. The curious quiet of her son as he investigated the lockers; the delight of watching baseball up close for the first time with her little boy.

The smell of the yard. The sight of a long ball out into the hole in the outfield. The sound of the crowd holding its breath as one.

She can't believe the way this night has worked out, the magic of watching her son be truly absorbed by something, be completely taken in with wonder and delight. It's corny, and it's amazing.

And she wants it forever.

But first. Bedtime. She can't put it off any longer.

Kate heads to the changing table and lays Dashiell onto it, keeping a hand on him in the darkness as she slowly works loose the buttons on his jersey. Even maneuvering his arms out of the sleeves, lifting his head up, pulling the shirt away doesn't wake him. He stirs, smacks his lips, but he's just too exhausted to come back. She folds the jersey and tosses it onto the rocking chair.

She uses a wet wipe across his chest and under his neck, over both hands, rubs another around his mouth and cheeks and ears. She'll give him a real bath tomorrow, but she doesn't want him sleeping in ketchup and sticky locker room floor all night.

She peels his sweaty socks off his skinny little feet. His jeans come off slowly, difficult to tug over his diaper. He's got to be soaked.

Oh yeah, he is soaked. She probably should've thought to change him once the game was over, or at the 7th inning stretch, but it just didn't occur to her. Or Castle should've thought to change him. He's usually the one who remembers that kind of stuff.

Well, tonight was exciting. It happens; he's fine. She uses a handful of wipes to be sure he won't break out in diaper rash, and Dashiell does wake a little. One of his hands come up in the darkness and makes a fist in her shirt. She puts on a clean diaper as quickly as she can, then untangles his fingers.

"Pajamas," she whispers, touching her forehead to his. His hands reach for her ears, but instead of tugging like he usually does, he strokes her face with his palms instead.

"Momma," he sighs.

She grabs both hands, kisses those palms. "That's right, little man. Let's get some pajamas on and go to bed."

He lets her pull a loose cotton tshirt over his head, lets her slowly work each leg into a pair of red-striped pajama pants. When he's dressed, she gathers him up against her chest again, cuddling him.

He doesn't need to rock. He's so tired, she could put him straight into the crib. But she wants to rock him anyway. She can't remember the last time she did.

He smells like wipes and baseball and clean laundry. She leans back in the chair and pushes off with her toes, smiling as he snuggles down into her side, his cheek pressed against her chest, his knees drawn up against her ribs. It reminds her a little bit of the feeling she got when she was pregnant with him, that first time she sat down in this room in this chair, Castle gone somewhere, just her and him, the two of them. The first time she really felt him there and knew he was hers. She was already 8 months pregnant, but it was the first time she really. . .wanted him to be hers.

So she's a slow learner. She rocks with him now, an arm under his bottom to keep him against her, a hand at his back to feel him breathing. The motion of the chair tugs at her as well, and she closes her eyes. A thought pops unwillingly to mind._ I could do this again._

Maybe she falls asleep, maybe she just zones out. But the next thing she knows, Castle is cracking open the door and slipping into the room. The spot where Dashiell's nestled against her is sweaty and too warm.

"Hey," she whispers.

"Hey. Been gone awhile."

"Mmm."

Castle stands just inside the doorway, probably waiting to move until he can actually see her. "He asleep?"

She sighs. "Yeah."

"Are you. . .rocking?"

"Yeah. It's nice." She lifts her hand to him, inviting him in.

"I bet." Castle stalks closer, slides up to her side to squeeze her hand, and then sits down beside the chair. Kate drops her hand over the arm of the chair, letting her fingers ruffle Castle's hair. She rubs her thumb along his eyebrow as she rocks a little.

He doesn't say anything; she can't bring herself to stop. The heavy weight of her son against her ribs, the darkness, the lingering satisfaction of 9 well-played innings, all of it is so. . .

welcome.

She loves this. She doesn't want it to ever end.

Castle reaches up and traps her hand, brings her palm to his lips, sucks on the flesh at the base of her thumb, licks her pulse. She pauses in the rocking chair, breathing. She could stop for this, for that-

oh.

She curls her fingers around his jaw. "Let me put him to bed."

Castle gets to his knees, kisses Dashiell's cheek, and then touches his warm lips to hers, hot and rich and devastating. Her arms tremble and his slide around hers, supporting their son. He steals her breath, then breaks away to lay his forehead against hers.

"I'll get him," he whispers.

"Yeah. Good idea." She's not sure she can stand up.

Castle slides his arm under Dash, lifts the boy to his chest. As they step away from her, she sees Dashiell's head loll against Castle's collarbone, his mouth open. Castle presses his lips to the top of his son's head, then lowers the boy down to the crib.

He remembers to make a tent out of the extra blanket, then runs his palm over Dashiell's skull. The sight makes her heart beat harder.

He comes back for her, puts his hands under her elbows and lifts her up. She snakes her arms around his waist, presses her ear to his chest just to check.

His heart is beating just as fast as hers.

She wants to ask him for something, but she's going to have to wait. She can't ask him now. Not when his heart is thundering under her ear, when his body responds to just the brush of her fingers across his chest.

He leans down and slants his mouth over hers, cutting off all chance of asking anyway. She lifts up on her toes to slide along his chest, raises her arms to link behind his neck. He opens his mouth and she gasps in a breath before sliding her tongue inside.

His hips buck against hers, and he breaks free of her mouth. "Downstairs," he whispers.

"Yes."


	34. Chapter 34

When Kate finally emerges from the shower, Castle has already had time to put on pajama pants and brush his teeth. He glances her way, stops for a long look as she wraps a towel around her body.

Kate catches him at it and laughs. "Flatterer."

Castle shrugs, drops his toothbrush into the cup by the sink, watches her in the long mirror that runs along the counter vanity. Kate rubs lotion over her face and neck, then opens the drawer at her sink and drops the bottle in. Then she grabs her comb from the same drawer and pulls it through her hair, shaking out drops of water over the bowl.

"Okay, getting close to creepy again, Castle."

He laughs and steps towards her, catching her hand as she lifts the comb again. He presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "It's not creepy when it's your husband, is it?"

She brings her other hand around to run her fingers through his wet hair, tosses her comb to the counter. "Marital status has nothing to do with it." She lifts onto her toes and kisses him back, lightly slapping his cheek. "But I need to have a serious conversation with you, and this-" she gestures down, "-would just get in the way."

"This never gets in the way, Detective." He grins but releases her hand, drawing his thumb down the soft flesh on the inside of her arm. He just had her, but damn, he wants her again. "A serious conversation, huh? You're not throwing me over for Nick Swisher are you?"

Her lips quirk, but it's not enough to ease his mind about the impending conversation. She puts a hand on his chest though, steps into him so that the towel brushes against him. "Nick's got nothing on you."

Rick grins at her, leans in to capture her mouth once more, unable to help himself when she's being particularly sexy, purposefully sexy. "Nick's got nothing on you either."

She laughs. "It's not one of those conversations, Castle. Let me get dressed."

"What's the rush? Dash is asleep, Alexis is out for awhile-"

"Just. . .I don't want to feel like I'm taking unfair advantage. I'm not looking to coerce you, you know?" She smiles widely at him as she heads for the walk-in closet, flipping on the light with a hand.

"I'm good with coercion. Any time you want to coerce me, you go right ahead."

She returns from the closet with the towel in hand, sweat shorts on, tshirt clinging to her. Really, not much of an improvement in the _I don't want to coerce you_ department. Any clothing she wears is unfair advantage.

"Put a shirt on, Castle." She throws the towel over the rack and straightens it, apparently unable to leave it bunched up, then does the same for his next to it. "Seriously. Shirt. I don't want to be distracted either."

"Are you saying my manly chest turns you on?" Rick struts over to her, hands on his hips. She pushes him towards the bedroom.

"Yes. Yes it does. I've admitted it. Now put a shirt on, you stud."

"Stud. That's twice tonight. I really like that one. I could get used to it," he murmurs, heading towards his dresser drawer. He pulls out a tshirt at random, shrugs it over his head. "All right. I'm decent now. You can come in."

He gets a swat to his ass as she passes him. It's light, though; it feels like love. He throws her a leer over his shoulder and grabs his wedding ring from the dresser, pushes it on his finger, checks his phone real quick for messages, then turns to the bed. Kate's pulled a knee up under her, one leg still on the floor as she reaches into the bedside table for another tube of lotion, this one for her hands.

"So. Conversation."

"Yeah. I want to ask you something. But I want you to think about it before you say yes or no. Seriously think."

Rick comes to his side of the bed, but she holds a hand out to him.

"Wait. No. Let's talk in your study." She gets to her feet.

He grins. "Yeah. You can't resist me. You want my body."

"I always want your body. But don't let it go to your head," she grins, quirking an eyebrow as she moves out the door.

Speechless, Castle stands in their room for a second, waiting to recover before he can follow her to the study. She's standing next to his shelves across from his desk, running her fingers over the titles there. These aren't his mystery novels, but a combination of their books together: her Russian literature, his Douglas Adams collection, her Foer and Krause and Bellow and Benioff novels (which are just too sad for him to love), his science fiction classics like Asimov, Heinlein, Bova. He lets his eyes wander the books, warmed by how they fit together on the shelf, her and him, sporadic and eclectic but essentially the same. A good story.

"So what's up, Kate?"

She turns to him, a calmness in her eyes that masks something else. He studies her for a moment to try to figure it out, but can't. It is serious, then.

"Um. I'm having trouble figuring out how to say this," she admits, giving him a rueful glance.

He grins. "Let me make it easy on you. The answer is yes."

But she's not willing to joke about it anymore; her frown is deep. "Castle."

"Right. Sorry. Serious. This is me being serious." He pulls a face.

"Castle." She sighs, runs a hand through her still-wet hair, turns her back on him to head for the chair. "I want to do this again. Tonight. I want to do it again. And not just sometime."

He grins, slips in behind her to wrap his arms around her waist before she can sit down. "We can do it as many times as you want. But you should've left the towel on. Faster that way."

She laughs, turns in his arms to break his hold. "What happened to serious?"

"I'm being totally serious. 100%. Serious. I'm always serious about having sex with you."

She laughs again. Is she blushing? Awesome, score one for him.

"I meant the game tonight."

He grins, feels the relief wash over him. Not that he truly expected this conversation to be bad, he really didn't, but it helps to know that she just wants to talk about the Yankees game.

"The game was fun. It was great, actually," he agrees. He lets her walk away from him, heading to the chair. He sits on the edge of his desk, waiting for the rest of it.

"I want to go again. With Dash, and you, and Alexis. Or however many of us can go. But I never know in advance, usually, when I'll be free to go."

That's true. It's why he wants to get season tickets. Maybe if he's careful, he can figure out a way to question her about where she'd want to sit, bleachers or premium seating or a box?

"Yeah," he says finally. "I managed to get tickets last minute tonight. But I don't know how often I can do that. Black Pawn uses their tickets a lot."

She frowns, but nods at him, running her finger along the arm of the chair. Suddenly, she stands up, paces to the window, then over to him at the desk. He knows she does this to reassert a feeling of power, or at least balance in their relationship. She can't ask for something and sit down to do it.

She couldn't stay seated when she told him she was pregnant either. Paced around like-

Is she pregnant? No. Surely not. Not possible, right? He's been fixed. Those things can't. . .escape can they? He has heard that it's possible for women to get their tubes tied, but to still get pregnant. Is it possible for men to be. . .uh, snipped, and still get their wives pregnant?

Oh God. "You're not pregnant are you?"

She startles back, putting her hands up as if to ward it off. "What?"

"No, never mind. Stupid question. It just. . .reminded me. Nothing. What were you saying?"

"I don't look pregnant, do I?" she says, hands on her hips, eyes wide.

"Are you asking me if you look fat? Because, really, Kate, that's a trap I am not-"

"No!" She throws up her hands, pokes him in the chest with two fingers. "I meant, you knew last time. Before I did. Because you're always watching me. Creepy watching. I was just-" She sighs. "You started it. Now, hush, let me get my train of thought back."

He grins at her, riding a second wave of relief as she rubs her forehead with a hand.

"What a stupid thing to ask," she mutters, pushing on his chest again. But she steps in closer, putting her body between his knees, an invitation to hug her, and he does, wrapping his arms around her from his seated position on the desk, knowing she needs it but can't ask. She's never been good at asking him for things.

"So what did you want to have a serious conversation about, Kate?" His arms are loose around her waist; he's pulled back just enough to look at her, but she leans in and drops her hands on his shoulders.

"Give me a second." She sighs again, not meeting his eyes, her fingers playing with the hair on his neck.

Huh. Did the pregnancy question scare her? Or is this something else? He rubs his thumbs along her sides, tries to figure out how this conversation has gotten so off track, tries to be patient.

She runs a finger over the pocket on his tshirt, studying it carefully. "After my dad celebrated a year clean and sober, I wanted to get him something special."

"Yeah?" he asks, trying to draw her out again.

"I looked up how much it would cost. So I know it's expensive. I couldn't even afford it in the bleachers, Castle. I know it's a lot. I know I'm asking a lot."

"You haven't exactly asked yet," he says, grinning up at her. When he's seated, she's pretty tall. Gorgeous, even when she's nervous. Is she nervous? Afford what in the bleach-

Oh. Season tickets. Oh, this is funny.

She looks down, gives him a glare. "Hush. I'm getting to it."

"Slowly."

"Let me take my time. So, anyway. I know that they are very expensive. And, unfortunately, I don't think bleacher seats would work for us either. Which makes it even more expensive. But I'm not looking for a luxury suite or anything. I'm not. . .it's not really a baseball game if you're air-conditioned and separated from the crowd so much."

"You gonna ask or not, Kate?"

She pushes on his shoulders with her hands, glares again, but gathers her breath to blurt it out. "Can we get season tickets? Not because. . .not for me. Well, for me. Shit. I hate this."

He laughs. "For Dashiell, you mean. I know. I saw it too."

She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. "It's just. . .he loved it. Loved it, Rick. I want that. All the time. Tonight was amazing. I don't want to let it go."

She pulls her arms back, crosses them over her chest, shifting away from him.

"Hey. I know. I was there, remember?"

"It's just. . .it's hard to know when I'm going to get a chance to go to a game. So it's not like we could plan on getting tickets for say, next Friday's game, and be guaranteed that I'd get to go. A body could drop. I could be in a case. I know-" she interrupts herself, waving him off. "I'm working on that, Castle. I'm trying to be better."

"You are, I know."

"I know it's important to be here. I really do. I just. . .there's all this unresolved stuff. And being at work, doing the job, it makes some of it okay a little bit."

"You mean your mom's murder," he says, not willing to tiptoe around this stuff anymore. This is on his list of Scary Things to Talk to Kate Beckett About. And she started this conversation, in a roundabout way.

"Yeah."

"I understand that. You know I do. It's important to find out who killed her, why."

"But. . .?"

"No buts, Kate. I understand. I want you to do what you have to do."

She takes another step back. She's moved from being in his arms to being a foot away from him. Which must mean she still has stuff to say. All right. He can take it. They're married; they have a son. Not a whole lot left he doesn't already understand about her.

Well. Okay, there's lots of things he doesn't understand. But when it comes to this, to her mom's case and her feelings about the job, he gets it.

"I'm gone too much," she says finally. "I have to figure out a way to work on that."

"You're not," he says, standing up because what he really wants to do is hold her. She won't let him though. Not right now. So he clenches his fists and tries to let his face, his eyes, communicate his intensity. "You are *not* gone too much. You're here right now, aren't you?"

"This doesn't count. This is me working on it. When I go back to the job. What do I do then?"

"You do what you've always done. Look, I've already figured it out, Kate. With Dash in the picture, I know I'll never get to shadow you again. These are choices I've made before, for Alexis, and I know how to make them again. I am making them. You do what you need to do."

She chews on her lip, shakes her head at him. "That's not fair to you. I get to do what I love, but you don't?"

"I do what I love," he says. "Were you, or were you not also in that shower with me?" He grins when he sees the flicker of a smile cross her too-serious face. "And I write. Kate, that's my job. My real job. That's what I love. And yeah, I loved tagging along with you. But you were right, that first year. It's dangerous. Me being there did put a greater risk on the time, at times. And now, with us, I don't want you to be distracted because you're worried about me doing something stupid."

"I don't. Well, I might," she admits, frowning.

"And I know, I know you might not come home one day. So why put both of us out there? Why make Dashiell lose both his parents?"

She shivers and puts a hand up to him, shaking her head. "I am coming home. I'm not ever not coming back to you. To him." She takes a shuddering breath. "I promise."

"You can't promise that." He steps forward, a little closer, still not too close, wanting very badly to touch her but needing to say this first. "But between the two of us, you are definitely the one who can deliver on that promise. So, you go. I stay. You kick ass, and I'll write about it."

"I don't like the way that sounds," she says finally, looking up at him with that crease in her forehead, deep and worried. "It's not fair. And I want you there. But I want you to be safe too. I want Dash to have you, and me, but I can't. . .It's not fair."

"Kate, what happened to your mom wasn't fair. Me not having a father, that wasn't fair. It's just how it is. We do what we have to. If it means I get a little clingy with you and nuts about shipping Dash off to preschool without me, then we deal with it. If it means you go to your job and you catch bad people and you get justice for the victims, then we deal with that too."

"You seem to be dealing much better than me."

"I've had practice," he says, grinning. Finally, her body has eased enough for him to wrap her in a hug. Tight. "How did this become a conversation about your job? Weren't you asking me for a really big, huge, expensive favor?"

She laughs, a little shaky, but buries her nose in his shoulder and hugs him back.

"It's a yes, Kate. I want to get us season tickets. Not just for you, but for all of us. It will give us the flexibility of going last-minute. I get it."

"No, no," she says from his shoulder, lifting her head. "I want you to think about it. I want you to look over your finances and see if it's even something you should do. I mean, you give money to charity and stuff, and we live. . .we live well, Castle. I don't want to take money away from some good, worthy cause-"

"Whoa. Wait a second. You're all wrong." He squeezes her tighter, then pushes her away so he can see her eyes. "This is really not the Kate Beckett I'm used to. Are you sure you're not pregnant?"

She smacks his chest, hard, stinging, and glares at him.

There we go. Much better.

"Never mind. Back to all the ways you're wrong. First of all, you have no idea what my finances, what *our* finances look like, Kate, because you refuse to look at them. That is a mistake. And secondly, half of this is your money too. Jeez, you have got to be kidding me about that. How many times are we gonna go through it?"

She shoves this time, both hands on his chest, her eyes narrowed. "You gonna keep talking?"

"Yes, because you should hear this. Third, this isn't about buying expensive things because we're rich and decadent. And you know it. This is spending a little money so that we can make our lives work, our family life work. So give it up, Kate."

She blinks. He knows he got a little riled up there, but the one thing that sets him off is Kate Beckett being. . .so freakin' stubborn. It was cute at first, it really was. It was even arousing. But he knows her so well now that all he can see is the ways in which her stubbornness keeps her from being happy, keeps her at a distance.

And that just kills him.

Course, he did admit he's too clingy, didn't he?

The muscle in her jaw works as she glares at him, eyes cool and calculating. But he's been through this enough times to know that it's a defense mechanism, that she really has listened to what he's said, that she's processing it.

Her eye twitches and her shoulders straighten. Those are her tells for acceptance. Good. He lets his guard ease a little, breathing out.

"All right. So show me your finances now."

"Our finances."

"Fine. Our finances. Show me our finances." She rolls her eyes.

"You're gonna have to say it better than that," he smirks, leaning back against his desk. "You know what I want. A little Jerry Maguire?"

Her lips twitch before she can school her features. "No, Castle. Just give me an idea of how much money is floating around."

"Not-uh. You're gonna have to say it. Say it. Say, Show me the money."

She rolls her eyes. "You're a child."

"Yeah, but be grateful I'm not asking you to scream it like Jerry does. Just that one line, Detective. You wanna scream later, I can make that happen too."

"Stop being stupid."

"Show me the money," he urges her, leaning in to capture her wrist, yank her back to him. "It's easy. Come on."

"Castle." She gives up struggling against him.

"I'm listening."

"Showmethemoney, all right? You big idiot."

He laughs and kisses those pursed lips, pressing himself against her, pleased that she's caved so quickly.


	35. Chapter 35

Kate watches him move around to his computer chair, powering up the laptop on the desk. The laptop he bought for *her* when she first moved in with him, right after she found out she was pregnant. The laptop she refused to use because it seemed. . .too much. The laptop is like a symbol of all the things she keeps trying to avoid, but can't.

Castle calls it the family computer. They let Dash get on the PBS Kids website or play games on Noggin, watch certain videos on youtube. She does use it now, some, because his laptop is where he writes, and it's sacrosanct. She doesn't want to infringe on his privacy. But she uses her phone most of the time. She doesn't save passwords to the browser or photos to the desktop.

"This might take a second. I get weekly updates via email from one of the accountants."

*One* of the accountants. She's starting to think this was a bad idea.

"How many do you have?"

He glances up at her, deer in the headlights look at her tone. "Uh, you know. A company does it for me. I don't know."

She heads for the window seat, trying to calm down a little, crossing her arms. She draws her knees up and watches the city, lets herself get mesmerized by the lights. It's getting late; the sense of the city is beginning to change. More secrets, more intrigue. Less business.

Does she really want to do this? If she lets Castle tell her about the money, if she lets it sink in that she's married to Richard Castle, famous novelist, best-selling author, she's afraid of what that does to her. But she really wants this. The season tickets. She wants some way to mark the change, something to hold her accountable. If they get season tickets, then she'll want to clear her cases, come home early, find a way to spend time with her family. If she knows the money behind it, then she's got to step up, be a part of his life.

"Kate."

She glances over at him, realizes she's holding her breath. She turns to face him, waiting for it. Like she's about to be executed.

"You do know. . .you remember me telling you that the Nikki Heat money is yours, right?"

"What?" Kate presses her back into the window, stares at him.

"I told you about it after the first book came out. Just didn't really ever expect to be able to give it to you. And then we got married and you were still so against it." He's not accusing; she doesn't see that in his eyes, just sadness. "So you've got some money. It's yours. Has been. So if you. . .if you don't want me to use our money for this, then you can use yours."

There's something in his face. . .something he's not telling her.

But she needs this. She's *got* to start taking some responsibility for the thing she helped create. She doesn't mean Dash, but this family. They are a family, no matter how she fought against it, how she struggled to remain free. She's got a husband, and a son, and a daughter.

She has to do this, has to start taking on responsibility, has to start standing in his limelight and accepting the consequences. Kate can't expect her family to survive if she's not putting everything into it. She's afraid that a week at home will lull her into a false sense of security, will make her think she's working on it, when in fact she's just postponing the work. But if she does this, if she starts diving into the money, and the accounts, and the charities, and all of it. . .then it holds her accountable.

She squeezes her hands into fists, shivers as the darkness leaches in from the window at her back. She can't bear to let this night end. She'll do anything-

even talk about money with Richard Castle, best-selling author.

"Here."

She jerks her head up, sees him leaning back in the chair, the internet browser up and ready to reveal the truth. The things she's tried not to know.

"Come see. This is what's in our home bank account, our working budget."

Kate gets up hesitantly, crosses to the desk. Rick fists his hand in the waistband of her pajama pants as she slides in next to him, leaning his head against her side.

It takes her a moment to figure out the transactions on the screen, to find the bottom line. And then it becomes clear.

"Oh." She blinks. How many zeros? "Oh my word."

"That's just for the household: it's kind of like allowance. That's what you pull from when you use the card I gave you. Groceries, health and beauty aids, stuff for Alexis, everything related to Dashiell, clothes. Although you don't seem to be spending much for yourself from this one, if this is any indication. Actually, you never use that card, do you?"

Her chest is tight. "That's a lot of money." She ignores his comment about not using the debit card he gave her. Of course she doesn't. She uses her own debit card, for the account where her own salary gets deposited. She's not going to use his money to buy clothes when she's got her own, perfectly good money. Money she earned.

"It is a lot of money, yeah. We have some expenses. Security, this apartment. Things like that." Rick tugs on her pants, pulls her closer. "You're not using the card, Kate."

She ignores that again. "Does. . .where does this money come from?"

"It's part of the plan the accountants set up for me at the beginning, or well, the beginning of me being actually responsible about this stuff. And when we got pregnant, I talked to them about how it would impact the financials. . .how much more would we need to spend on food, diapers, clothes, all that. So we increased the amount going in every month."

"But. . .from where, Castle? Where does it come from? The money in my account is a direct deposit from the city. So this, where-"

"Yeah, yeah. It's from, you know, income."

"On your books."

"The whole. . .brand, for lack of a better word. You know, the books, international rights, movie rights, the first Nikki Heat movie, the Young Adult series, the anime comic books, the production company, the-"

"The *production company*? Are you kidding me?" She jerks back from him, but finds herself caught by his hand. Like he knew ahead of time that she'd try to run away. He probably did.

"Yeah, uh. . .I'm pretty sure I told you about it. Remember? They made the tv movies out of a couple of my books. Um, Death of a Prom Queen. Oh, yeah, and Kissed and Killed."

"Okay, so it's just, just income from your brand." Just? Just from his *brand*? Kate props a hand on her hip and tries to remember how to breathe.

"Yeah. See? No big deal." Rick smooths his hand out at her back, his fingers sliding under her shirt, a little distracting. A nice distraction, actually. She welcomes the heat that darts along her skin at his touch.

But no. Focus. "And. . .if we got tickets, would it come out of this money?"

Castle leans back, drops his hand. He scratches the back of his neck. "Well. No. It wouldn't."

"So you have other money?"

He rubs a hand down his face, sighs. When he looks at her, she sees a strange sorrow in his eyes. "We have other money. Yes."

She bites her lip. "We."

A flicker of a smile ghosts his face. "Thanks. I was just gonna show you the accounts, one by one. Didn't want to overwhelm you. But. . ."

She chews on her bottom lip, shakes her head. "You want me to know this, then show me all of it. I can take it." Why is it that it sounds like she's asking him to reveal all his terrible secrets? It feels that way too. Should it feel this way?

"All right. All of it."

A strange flutter starts in her chest, something between panic and excitement.

Rick pulls up another window in the browser, clicks on a link, then swivels in the chair to get at the desk's bottom drawer. She steps aside so he can pull out files. "Here, let me show you the tax returns. That'll give you a perfect idea of our yearly income. Well, I mean. . .it was different last year because of claiming Dash as a dependent, and we didn't file jointly. . .okay, so it's a little complicated. But I'll pull out one from last year, one from a few years ago."

Her heart is pounding.

"Oh, also. . ." Castle flips through another couple of tabs until he gets to one labelled Charity. He pulls out a spiral-bound presentation. "This is what the accountants give me every year, detailing the charity work. So you can look through that too."

He hands it over to her and she takes the inch-thick bound report, then wordlessly accepts the sheaf of papers, her palms damp.

What has she done?


	36. Chapter 36

Rick watches Kate absorb the information in her hands, watches the flush start in her neck and spread up to her cheeks. He's needed to have this conversation with her, needed to get things cleared up between them about this. And he's got to finally get this off his chest, this thing he's done with the money. He's going to tell her tonight. Whatever happens.

Finally, she looks up at him with something like confusion. "Castle, you give a lot to charities."

"Well, I make a lot." He wishes he still had his hand at her waist. This conversation seemed to go better when he could touch her.

"Do you even know where you give, how much you give? Do you read this?" She shakes the spiral-bound report.

"Not. . .not all of it, no. I look at the summary statement at the beginning. The accountants and stuff keep track of it."

"The half-marathon and 5K we're doing later-"

"Oh man, don't remind me," he groans, rubbing his eyes. It's late. He's already exhausted. Just thinking about the 5K makes him want to quit, go to bed.

"Hey, you and I are going running tomorrow morning." She nudges the chair around with her knee. "Don't even think about getting out of it."

"Morning?" He whines, pulling a face, turning the chair back to her.

"Off topic. The race. The half-marathon and 5K. It says you *started* this event, Castle."

He nods. "I did." A long time ago.

"Why? Not that it's not a good and worthy cause, but why did you start a charity event, and then do so little?"

He frowns at her. "That's. . .it's the first thing good I did with my money. After I blew through everything I made off the first book. I mean, well. . ."

Castle rubs the back of his neck, tries to figure out how to tell her this. It's not that he's afraid she'll take it the wrong way, he just. . .okay, maybe a little afraid. This wasn't even *on* his list of Scary Things to Man Up and Tell Kate Beckett About. Jeez, he's in for it tonight.

"I did it for Kira." He hunches his shoulders, looks up at her.

She sinks down onto the desk, her face expectant, waiting.

Okay, not so bad. Not yet anyway. "And then I. . .I didn't know what to do about it once I married Meredith. It felt, uh, strange I guess. Meredith wasn't a runner. Or a charity event person. So I kinda stepped back. I have good people running the event, it makes money every year. I've let it go at that."

"Why for Kira?"

Sometimes it's really not great that Kate has met every single one of the loves of his life. Well, Meredith and Gina weren't loves of his life exactly, but they did *share* his life. And Kira's bridesmaid ended up dead, so Kate has met her too. . .

"Kira has MS. Diagnosed right after we got out of college. The money from the Run goes to MS research."

Kate puts her hand on his forearm; her fingers brush his skin. "She's doing good?"

"Yeah. She's good I think. She was doing good back when you. . .met her. I haven't talked to her since, actually. She doesn't know about the Race. I did it out of guilt."

"Guilt?" Her eyes are so sympathetic. Well, she's an expert at interrogation, right? Even knowing that, he wants to spill his guts to her.

"I, uh, I acted like a jerk when she found out. She was scared, and I just. . .got scared too. I didn't help, wasn't very strong or positive about it. MS can be completely debilitating, or it can stay in a kind of remission for most of a person's life. As it seems to have done with Kira. But she didn't know that then; you can't know that. She ran away, because I was an idiot and got all sulky and defensive and wounded. She ran to Europe. Her mother helped her run, of course. Kira told me not to follow her, and I didn't. I probably should have."

Kate is silent, rubbing his arm.

He blinks, then laughs, and looks up at her. "Well. No, I'm glad I didn't. If I had, I wouldn't have met you. Or maybe I'd have met you, but wouldn't. . .none of this. And this is so much more. . ." He fades off, watching her, the gorgeous lines of her cheekbone, the rich play of dark and light in her eyes. It actually hurts to think of never meeting Kate Beckett. Even worse would be to meet her, and not be able to be with her.

She brushes her hand down his arm. "Will it be too weird for you if we both run it? I can step out, let you do your usual-"

Castle takes a deep breath, relief more than anything, and turns his wrist so that he can capture her hand. "No. No, I'd like us to do it. Together. That's. . .good."

Whew, that conversation went way better than he expected. Well, it's Kate. He should always expect the unexpected with Kate. Or maybe give her a little more benefit of the doubt. So maybe this other thing he needs to tell her, maybe that will be okay as well.

"All right, Kate. We've put it off long enough." He smiles at her, takes the pages from her hands, and shifts the pile until he comes to the tax returns. "Here's the total income for the year."

She takes it from him with narrowed eyes, props her foot up on the arm of his chair, but she does look at the form and study the little boxes. There's a long, long moment where he sees her read the number but not believe it, and then her jaw drops.

"You made this last year?" She's staring at him.

He grins a little, but he's still nervous. It feels like a dirty secret. "You knew, right? You knew I was filthy rich."

"I didn't know it was *this* filthy."

"Well. . .that filthy."

"You didn't listed your deductions, Castle." She flips the page, looking for an attached schedule, but he didn't do that in those years.

"Well, no. That's the one from a couple years ago."

"So you give this much to charity-" She smacks her hand on the bound report. "But you didn't claim any of it?"

"No. Not last year, not any year. This past year, the one I filed a few months ago, I had to take the standard deductions for Dash and Alexis. It was some kind of IRS thing about filing separately when you're married, couldn't get around it. I think because when you filled yours out, even though I told you I wanted the accountant to do it; you did it yourself, remember? Anyway, you claimed them, so I had to as well."

"Wait, you didn't take *any* deductions before? For *any* year? Castle. . .you'd get back some money. A lot of money."

He nods slowly. This is something they need to talk about. "Maybe I should be taking the deductions, getting that money back and putting it into some kind of interest bearing account for Dash or something. Make him a trust fund baby. I don't know. This is why you should be aware of the money, this is why I want you to know what's going on."

"Before we get into that, first tell me *why* you didn't claim anything, Castle. You don't make any claims on here that I can find. Not even for a dependent, and you had Alexis. Not even for the alimony."

He rubs a hand through his hair nervously. "Yeah. I don't. I feel like. . .you see how much I make. It's obscene. How can I ask for anything back?"

"Castle, you pay a *lot* in taxes. A similarly obscene amount in taxes. You could get half of it back."

"Well, they tell me I could get all of it back," he admits, wincing as her face blanches.

"Why don't you? Obviously the accountants are trying to get you to claim this stuff."

"I feel like. . .I have more than enough. I still live like this," he waves his hand to the rest of their apartment. "And there are lots of people, most people, who don't. So maybe my taxes go into the welfare system or the arts or public broadcasting or hey, you know, the police?"

"City police don't receive federal funding."

"Actually, they do. The state receives federal grants, some of which are portioned out to city services like trash, education, and police."

"Ok." She rubs two fingers to her forehead.

"So I don't really feel like I should take it back." He thinks maybe this is going better than he could've wished. She's looking at him with the expression on her face, the same one she gets when she thinks he's being stupid, but sweet. He can live with that.

She sighs, glances down to the page before her. "Ok."

Castle wraps his hand around her calf, smoothing his fingers down her muscle. He leans in from the chair to rest his cheek against her knee, content to let her absorb it all. He's still got one more thing he needs to tell her. Just one more. This is going well.

She's still looking at that number, her brow furrowed. "But Castle."

"Yeah." He wants to kiss her knee, start moving up from there, but she shakes him off. He lets go.

"Isn't. . .some of this mine?"

He grins. "Sweetheart, all of it's yours."

She blushes fiercely, lifts her head to glare at him. "Not like that. I mean, you said. . .you said the Nikki Heat money. . .how much of this is Nikki Heat?"

Castle absolutely loves that he got her back for that 'stud' comment earlier. He turns to the computer, pulling up the Nikki Heat account that he's already logged into. Of course, he's grinning now, but she's getting really close to the thing he needs to tell her. The thing he did. "Here. This much."

Kate gets up from the edge of his desk and stands beside him in front of the computer.

"Holy shit."

He can't help the grin when he sees her face. "This is yours."

"Holy shit, that's over a million dollars. That's-"

"It's over two million dollars." It was more. It was a little bit more. Really, not a lot has been spent out of it, at least, not compared to what's going in. That should be in his favor. When he explains.

"Castle."

"Yup?" He looks away from the account online and up at her face; she's got a hand pressed against her chest like she's trying to keep her heart in her rib cage.

"I can't have that."

"As you pointed out, it's yours, Kate. I keep the contract money, and put the sales and rights money in here."

"What do you mean? What does that mean?"

"The publisher pays me a flat amount by contract for a certain number of books. I keep that. It goes into our account."

"Your account."

"Our account. The home account. So it's ours. Income, right? Like you said. Salary for a job. And then, because I have good lawyers, the contract gives me royalties and rights. So every time the publisher sells overseas rights or movie rights, that kind of thing, I get that money too. Well, the publisher gets some, but I get a lot of it. The Nikki Heat books belong to you. I told you that right after the first book became a best-seller. I told you it was really your money."

"You've made over two million dollars on just four Nikki Heat novels?"

"Yes. And the movie."

"And it's just sitting there."

He winces. Not really. Not. . .sitting there. "Because you wouldn't do anything with it. You wouldn't touch it."

She sits down, thudding to the arm of his chair, her mouth still slightly open with shock. "I can't have that money."

He puts a hand to her waist, rubs her back. "You kinda already do," he says and worries. This is the crucial part, right here. If she forgives him for this, then it will be fine. If she doesn't, he might have already screwed things up. "You remember after Dash was born and I told you that you got a new bank card?"

Her eyes zero in on his. "You didn't."

"It's for this account. I. . .I. . .I'm sorry."

"You didn't," she whispers, stands up. Her eyes are flat.

"Kate."

"You tricked me." She moves around the desk, closer to the door.

"Not really. It was true. It *was* a new bank card."

"I threw out my old one. I shredded it, Castle."

"But you still write checks from on your account for your old apartment, Kate, and my mother is living there! It's not. . .it's just paying you back."

"Are you kidding me? I can't believe you did this!" She drops the tax forms in his leather writing chair, crosses her arms.

"This is the only thing I bring to the table, Kate. Well, money and my charming wit. Can't you at least let me do this for you?" He tries to smile.

"Against my will? Are you kidding me?"

He stands up as well, clenches his fists to keep from reaching for her. "Look, this wouldn't be a problem if you would've just used the card I gave you, for the home account. But you wouldn't use it! And then you still try to act like you'll only use your own money for everything. But you don't. You use our money when we get groceries together. Our money when we buy stuff for Dash, our money when *you* buy stuff for Dash. But the second it's only you, the second it doesn't have anything to do with me, you're back to using your own money. Like you're keeping yourself unstained by all my filthy riches, like you're trying to be better than the money. It's like you live two lives, Kate; one with me and one without me. You're a total hypocrite!"

She stares at him.

Oh shit. He probably shouldn't have said that.


	37. Chapter 37

She stares at him; something in her stomach is thrashing to get out. She can't. . .can't even. . .

"I'm a hypocrite?" she says, crossing her arms.

He flinches. But he doesn't say anything.

"*I'm* the hypocrite?"

It bubbles up in her, all the things she wants to unload on him, all the words she wants to blast him with. All of it. Two years worth of being trapped-

But instead, Kate walks out.

* * *

><p>Rick stands there a second, both stunned and grateful because he expected this terrible verbal beatdown, but the cold, closed-off look on her face has frozen him to his spot.<p>

Sometimes he's supposed to go after her, sometimes he's not. He has no idea which one this is. And his gut is telling him nothing. Actually, his gut is quaking in fear that he's totally overstepped, that he's. . .

That was a noise, like a door closing. Where is she going?

That was the *front* door.

Castle hustles out of the study, still in his pajamas, and runs for the foyer. He snatches open the door, runs down the hall, and sees the elevator lights going down. Now he's pissed. Scared, sure, but seriously angry with her for walking out.

He can't go after her; Dash is upstairs. And she knows that. Strategic strike.

Castle clenches his fist, jerks back open his front door, and runs into Kate.

"Kate!"

"What are you doing?" She's still stone-cold angry, her eyes glittering shards of ice.

"I thought. . .I heard the door." He rubs a hand down his face.

She holds up the debit card, smacks it into his chest. "You can have this back, you bastard."

He grabs her wrist, crushing his fingers around her hand. "Don't call me names, Kate. You're being-"

"I can be however I want to be. If I want to call you names, I damn well will, you asshole! You tricked me. You betrayed my trust, Castle." She shoves on his chest, uses his momentum backwards to step in and twist her wrist free of his grip, then flips him sideways.

He feels the wall meet his ribs and winces. Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough to bruise. He catches her other wrist as she makes a move, draws her up against his chest to prevent any more maneuvers like that.

"You *hurt* me," he snarls.

Kate's face flares. "You hurt me first!" Her mouth twists, and suddenly, she's crying, furious tears that streak down her cheeks. "You *hurt* me."

Oh God.

Castle pulls her closer, one hand still clutching both her wrists against his chest, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders. She buries her face against his neck, struggles against his grasp half-heartedly. He can feel her tears, wet and slick against his skin.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispers against her ear, backing her up against the wall to keep her trapped.

"Why would you do that?" she whispers, and he feels the shuddering of her shoulders as she tries to choke down her tears.

"It was an impulse, a stupid impulse. I'm sorry. I got the extra cards in the mail and I just. . .I just. . .every time you refused to use the money, it hurt, Kate. It was like a rejection, every time. And I just wanted to be needed for something. . .it was stupid. It was stupid, and I'm sorry."

Kate sucks in a tremulous breath and shoves against his chest with her trapped hands. "Let me go, Castle."

"No."

"Seriously, let me go," she says again, her forehead against his neck, her lips tickling his collarbone.

"No. I'm afraid you'll leave. I'm afraid you walk out the door," he says honestly.

She chuckles bitterly against his skin. "Can't just leave, Castle. You think any judge in this city is going to give me custody of Dash?"

Castle's stomach plummets. He steps away from her, drops her hands. His chest hurts; he struggles to keep his face neutral. "You think I'd take him away from you?" He's having trouble breathing. "You think I've trapped you. And I've made you cry, shit." He steps back again; he can't be near her right now. Not when she's. . ."You leave, Kate, and I won't go after you. I won't. . .I won't do that to you."

* * *

><p>Kate stares at him, the second freaking wound from him in a matter of twenty minutes. This is what happens; you get your heart cut out at every turn.<p>

"Are you kidding me?" She says, advancing on him. "I leave, and you won't come after me? The hell you won't." She pushes on his chest, shoving him towards the living room. "You better come after me. If I do something as selfish and stupid as walking out on my family, you better come after me. You didn't learn that the first time?"

Kate reaches out with her left hand, grabs his left hand as well, yanking it up in front of his face, their rings clashing.

"You think this doesn't mean anything to me? I freaking married you, Castle." She steps in even closer, pushes on him again to shove him into the couch. He sits with a flop.

"I didn't have to. It's not 1955. But I wanted to. Because I love you. I love you, you idiot. That's why it hurts so much."

He sits, gaping.

"You have some serious insecurities here. It's not pretty, Castle. You gonna man up and talk about this shit you're spouting at me? Or are you going to make more stupid comments?"

Castle runs a hand down his face, shakes his head. "I'm gonna try to stop making stupid comments."

"And by the way, that was a joke. A lame joke, I see that now. But holy crap-"

"Okay, okay. Got it. Message received. Sit down so this feels less like an interrogation," he says, reaching up to snag her hand, tug her down.

Kate sits on the coffee table across from him, still angry, but feeling better in the anger than she had with the hurt.

"Wow," he says, shaking his head again. "You're hot when you're pissed."

"Well pathetic-ness isn't attractive on you, Castle," she says, lifting a foot up to push on his knee. She settles her foot on the couch just inside his thigh. "This. . .whatever this is you're coughing up on me. So talk."

"The moment's gone now."

"That's not funny."

"It is a little bit."

She watches him for a second, narrowing her eyes. "Here's the deal. You did something sneaky and tricky, something wrong, and now that I know about it, I'm. . .hurt."

A flicker of a grin flashes in his eyes, and she nudges his knee with her foot. "Shut up, Castle. You know that's hard for me to admit."

"I'm sorry for tricking you. You know that, right?" He leans forward, wraps a hand around her foot.

"Being sorry doesn't erase the fact that you did it."

"I did it because you keep putting me off, Kate. You keep pushing me aside. And I didn't know what else to do."

She studies him, chewing on her bottom lip.

"We both have some nasty insecurities going on here," he says softly. "Are *you* going to man up and talk about it?"


	38. Chapter 38

Kate's phone goes off suddenly in their strained silence; it's Alexis's ring tone. Castle gestures her towards the entryway where her phone still sits in the bowl on the table where he left it after dumping everything out of Dashiell's bag. "Go, go."

Kate scoops her phone up and answers it, but her eyes lock on his a moment.

It gives him a chance to catch his breath, regroup a little. But the second he leans back in the couch, he hears Dashiell squawking from upstairs. Kate's eyes cut back to his, and Castle gestures that he's got it.

He steps over the new baby gate, takes the stairs two at a time until he hits the hall. Dashiell's cries gather volume as he gets closer, and when Castle opens the door, he sees the boy standing up in his crib, the makeshift tent pulled down.

"Hey buddy," he says softly. Dashiell's got tears streaked down his face, so Castle leans over and picks him up, bringing him to his chest to rub his back. "Bad dreams? What's up?"

"Mom-ma," he whimpers.

"Momma's downstairs." Castle bounces him a little bit, hoping he can get the boy to fall back asleep. He glances at the clock and sighs: almost four hours of sleep for Dash so this might be all they get. "She'll come kiss you when you go back to bed, okay, buddy?"

"Mom-ma. Mom-ma."

"All right, all right." He walks around the room, hoping to feel the boy settle down, hoping he'll fall back asleep. But of course he won't. Sleep's never easy for him.

When Dashiell starts wriggling to get down, Castle gives up on putting him back to bed and instead heads for the hall. Maybe if Dash gets a good-night kiss from mommy, then he'll protest less about going back to bed.

Castle steps back over the baby-gate in time to see Kate coming back into the living room, phone in one hand, her gun in the other. She's dressed in jeans and a white tshirt; she's got the whole gear on and sliding her gun into the holster on her hip.

"Kate?" A block of ice settles in his chest.

"Alexis wants me to come get her." Kate gives him a hesitant look, then explains. "She's at a warehouse party in Harlem. She called as soon as it got bad, but Paige is already wasted. She thinks. . .she thinks someone spiked her drink; she said she feels funny."

"What?"

"Castle." Kate holds a hand up, steps closer. "She's just a little nervous about where they are. I told her to stay inside; I'll go get her."

"What about a cab?" he says, distractedly wrangling Dash as the boy squirms.

"She called the usual cab company and they don't service that area; the car service is closed after one, so she just missed it. She didn't want to just google a cab company and hope they were legit. So I'll go pick her up. It'll only take a thirty or forty minutes; she'll be fine."

Castle squeezes a little too tightly and Dashiell grunts against his chest. "I'm going with you. We're going with you."

"Castle."

"He's not gonna sleep anyway, and maybe the car ride will knock him out. We'll take the Audi; the car seat is already in it."

"You're not dressed."

He's already moving towards the entry table and the pile of shoes under it; he slides his flip flops out with his foot and shoves them on. "I'll wait in the car with Dash while you go get her."

He grabs the bag with Dashiell's stuff; he repacked it while Kate was putting Dashiell down for the night. He slings it over his shoulder and adjusts Dashiell, then looks at Kate.

She closes her hand in a fist around her phone, then nods. It dawns on him that maybe she wanted this excursion as an excuse to get away from him for a few minutes, but she only grabs the keys to the Audi out of the bowl on the table and opens the front door.

He follows after her, watches her lock up, then reaches down and takes her hand, lacing his fingers through hers as he juggles Dashiell with his other arm.

"We can talk in the car. If you want," he says softly.

She glances over at him. "Can you concentrate on anything other than Alexis right now?"

"It'd probably be good to have a distraction," he admits, pushing the call button for the elevator.

"All right. We'll talk in the car." She squeezes his hand, then leaves over and kisses Dashiell's cheek.

He's pretty close to panic. The only thing keeping him from teetering over that edge is the tight hold Kate keeps on his hand, and the fight they just had. His guts still haven't healed after that one; it makes it hard to focus too clearly on Alexis at a party in Harlem and feeling funny.

If Lofton is in any way involved, he will murder that boy.

* * *

><p>She drives expertly, snaking her way through two a.m. traffic. It's like a strange, second rush hour as people careen from club to club. She angles the rear view mirror and checks out Dashiell in the backseat.<p>

"He's already asleep," Castle says softly.

She adjusts the mirror back to the road and breaks cautiously for a clump of pedestrians who've wandered through the intersection, then steers around them.

"Moment is kinda over, isn't it?" she says back.

"Yeah."

"Still."

"Yeah."

She sighs, waits for something more from him. She doesn't know how to start this conversation; she doesn't know how to be careful about it either, careful enough not to hurt him.

"Kate. I don't know what to say."

She turns on her blinker and merges onto the onramp for Harlem River Drive; the darkness washes over them. She takes a breath. "Am I. . .living two lives?"

They're still in silence when she gets on the expressway. She thinks maybe that was a bad question to lead off this conversation. Also, maybe she doesn't want to hear his answer.

"Scratch that. How do I not. . .what would reassure you, Castle? About me."

He sighs. "I don't think it's reassurance I'm looking for."

"You better give me *something* here, because this is already the most awkward and uncomfortable conversation I've ever had with someone. And I was the one to confront my father about his drinking. So-"

"So. Where do you want to start?" Castle glances behind them at Dashiell again, stalling.

"How about we start with why you had to trick me into using your money, when I told you, I *told* you, that I didn't feel comfortable doing that."

"Uh, would you accept, Ignorance is bliss?"

"Castle."

"Are we going to talk about it, or are you just getting mad again?"

She lets out a breath and cuts her eyes to him. "Okay, so you decided tricking me was preferable to having a conversation about the money."

"We *had* a conversation, Kate. The conversation went like this: 'Kate, you should use this money. It's yours anyway.' And you said, 'I'm not using your money, Castle.' And I said, 'Kate, you're having my baby,' And you said-"

"I got it. Okay. So I wasn't receptive. Obviously. And you did it anyway?"

"I did it anyway."

"You think you can just bulldoze over me? That what I feel doesn't matter?"

"You think that's what I'm doing?" he shoots back. "Here we go, then. You think I don't take your feelings into consideration. That I ignore what you want for your life. That somehow I'm going to take over everything, that nothing will ever be the same again, that it will be worse now than when you were alone."

She pushes her back into the seat, clenches her hands on the steering wheel. "I think that's about it, yeah."

He snorts at her. "I don't have to tell you how ridiculous that sounds, do I?"

"It's not ridiculous." She narrows her eyes at the car she's currently tailgaiting.

"It is. Because it's just about the complete opposite of everything I've been trying to do. I *know* you, Kate. You think that, for a second, I'm gonna try to order you around, take over your life? I couldn't even if I tried, you're so stubborn."

"Thanks." She glares at him for a second, then manages to get a break in the traffic that lets her whip around the slow-moving Corolla ahead of her. "And what do you mean? The opposite? Tricking me into using your money is the opposite of controlling my life?"

"Sorta. Kinda. Maybe not exactly now that I'm thinking about it. But the idea was there."

"The idea was crap."

"The idea was to do the right thing without getting you all. . .upset about it. Which-" he rushes on, "-has clearly backfired. I see that."

"Clearly."

"But I did it thinking it would be the best way to make sure you had what you needed without me having to mess around in your life. See? I *told* you it was the opposite."

Kate sighs, rubs at her forehead with a hand as she feels her phone vibrate. She pulls it out of her pocket, tosses it to Castle. "Check that."

Castle fumbles with it. "It's Alexis. She says she's waiting by the elevators. The party is on the 3rd floor of the warehouse."

"Text her back that I'm coming to get her. ETA 20."

"Cop talk," he murmurs, shooting her a look that she catches.

"Back to *our* talk."

"Yeah."

She waits a second, but realizes it's her turn again. "So I get it. I mean. . .I understand that you thought it would be. . .easier on me to not know. Just don't do that again."

"Yeah, no. I got it."

"But still. . .why did you feel like you had to pay for stuff? I don't *get* it, Castle. I have my own money. I agreed that family stuff was okay to spend your money but. . ." She shakes her head, still hurt. It still hurts. When does it stop hurting so much? It's not just anger; the anger is easy to deal with. It's this deep wound where her trust is. Even the love isn't a problem. It's the trust. "Why did you trick me?"

"Why," he says softly.

"Why?" And she knows it's the question that's haunted her since her mother's death. The question that's a part of the hurt. The question that never gets an answer and eats away at her. She just doesn't understand.

"I want to feel like you need me for something," he says quietly. "I want to feel like I matter at all to you."

Well, damn, that hurt too. She gulps down the knot in her throat and frowns at the traffic. "You matter." Saying 'I love you' right now seems too cheap for what he's confessing.

The silence is back. She tries to figure out a way to explain that doesn't hurt him, but none of the things that come to her are very flattering. She just has to go with the truth. "I guess the thing is. . .I don't want to feel like I need anyone. For anything."

He sighs again. "Yeah. That's about what I thought."

She chews on her lip and increases her speed, cuts to the fast lane. "Well. Where does that leave us?"

"Me sneaking bank cards into your wallet and you. . .pretending not to know?"

She reaches out, blindly, and trails her hand down his forearm to clutch at his fingers. "I get the feeling," she says slowly. "That a lot of this is my fault."

He turns his head to gape at her. "Did you just. . .no, I must be hearing things. You can't have said-"

"Shut it," she grouses, squeezing his hand.

He chuckles softly. "I must say, never in a million years did I think you'd say this was your fault."

"Not totally my fault. Just. . .a good deal of it."

"No, right. Not totally your fault." He holds up a hand at her look. "I'm serious! Takes two to tango. Right, no, I get it. I did something stupid. I do a lot of stupid things when it comes to the people I love. That's just me. Ask Alexis. She's got a host of embarrassing moments."

"Hopefully, this will not be one of them," she interjects, tugging at his hand to get his attention. "You're staying in the car. Don't freak out on her. Not right now. Later. Okay?"

"Right."

"I'm serious, Castle. She called me because I can be discreet. I'll get her and Paige out of there; we'll drive home in silence. Let her sleep off whatever it is she's been exposed to."

"Oh crap, that really isn't helping, Kate. Exposed to? Can we go back to the part where a good deal of this is your fault?'

She sighs. But she sees what she's done. She's changed the subject. Avoided the painful things. "What do I do then, Castle? How do I. . .not make you feel useless?"

"Ouch." He winces and rubs a hand down his jaw. "That didn't sound very manly."

"I am not sugar-coating-"

"No, no. Please don't. Kate Beckett does not sugar-coat."

Something tickles at her brain for attention. She glances over at him. "Does it bother you?"

"What?" He looks bewildered.

"Not taking your last name."

"What? No. Why?"

She shrugs it off. "I don't know. It's not like, a man thing, or something?"

"It could be. Not for me though." He lets her have her hand back so that she can change lanes again, but reaches over and lays his palm against her thigh, heavy and warm. "It's not really the point. You can have whatever name you like. You do what you need to do. I've said that before, Kate, and I mean it."

"It just seemed easier to keep it the same. For work. Same driver's license. Bills. Stuff."

"You don't have to defend yourself, Kate."

She chews on her lip and then decides to tell him the real reason, the secret reason. This is step one in trying to make him understand that he matters to her.

"And because-" She stops. He's got a big enough ego, already. She doesn't have to-

"Yeah?"

She *does* have to. Clearly she does. "Because I like it when you call me Beckett. And if it wasn't my name anymore, then maybe you wouldn't say it." She holds her breath.

Kate can practically hear him grinning in the car; he squeezes her thigh and leans in to kiss the side of her mouth, then draws his lips up to her ear. "Beckett." She struggles to pay attention to the road, wishing they could have this conversation at home, raises her hand to touch the side of his face.

"I think this would be the point where we get to have make-up sex," he says, pulling away slightly.

She laughs, lets her hand drop. "Yeah. Hard to know though."

"Why?"

"First real relationship fight, Castle."

He laughs back, a rich sound in the darkness. She really wants him right now; she's a little surprised by how much.

"I guess it is. Wow, two years. Kind of a record."

She laughs again, shaking her head. "I meant. . .with anyone."

"You *never* fought with anyone else before? Seriously?"

Kate glances over at him. "It was either good. Fine. Or it was over."

"Well." He presses a hand to his chest. "I'm certainly glad it's not over."

"It's not." She looks over at him again, tries to be sure he's joking, that there's not some truth to it.

"No wonder you're so terrible at this," he laughs.

"Shut up. You're not much better."

"I am too!"

"Are not."

"Didn't I start this conversation?"

She thinks back, narrows her eyes at him. "No. I did."

"Well, you're learning from the master, Young Anakin."

"Didn't he grow up to become Darth Vader?"

"Semantics," he grumbles.

"You big geek." The exit sign for W 155th looms in the darkness. "Hand me my phone, Castle."

He gives it back, and she takes a quick look to call up the google maps application. She put in the address Alexis gave her back at the loft, and so now she checks the directions once more.

"We've got about ten minutes more on surface streets before we get there." Kate drops the phone in the cup holder and takes the exit left.

Castle glances at her. "Are we good?"

"We're. . .good."

"That's not very convincing."

"Well, I feel like shit when I talk this stuff out," she says, going again for honesty.

"Yeah, I know you do."

"You do?"

"Remember that analogy I told you?"

"What analogy? When did you tell me?"

"About the splinter. About how I like to dig around and get it out quickly, even if it's painful and makes me bleed?"

"Oh, no you didn't. Are you kidding me?" She looks over at him, reaches out to shove on his shoulder as she stops at a light. "You told me that analogy when I was in labor, Castle. *Not* good timing."

He laughs, his face creasing with a happy grin. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"I thought you were trying to make some stupid comment about our son, you idiot."

"Well, this has been enlightening for me. I gotta admit."

"I'm trying to squeeze this thing out of me and you're going on about splinters. If they would've let me have my gun in the delivery room, you'd have been on the floor."

"You were squeezing my hand hard enough to drop me to my knees. You don't remember that?"

She grins back at him, floors the accelerator through the green light. "You deserved it. Now. The splinter? Care to enlighten *me* on what the hell you were talking about?"

"Oh. Right. Just that we like to approach problems two different ways. The problem, in this analogy, is the splinter. I like to dig around-"

"-Get bloody. Right. The painful way. I see. And I like to let it work its way out. I distinctly remember you saying that. Work its way out. I could've killed you for that. That boy's giant head was not going to work its way out."

"Not out of those hips," he mutters.

She slaps him again.

He catches her wrist. "But I was talking about problems. About how we deal with things. And I meant, back then anyway, that I was willing to deal with problems your way, willing to just let it go. I meant that it would all work out eventually."

She's silent for a second, takes her hand back to make her turn at the next light. "But sometimes it doesn't all work out."

"Yeah. Sometimes it gets infected."

She pulls up the map on her phone again, takes a right at the next block. They're close. They're so close.

"How do you tell the difference then?" she says softly, her forehead creasing in concentration. "Between the kind that should just be left alone and the kind that should be pulled out?"

He sighs. "I don't know."


	39. Chapter 39

The address Alexis texted her turns out to really be a warehouse. Loading bay in the back, boarded up and desolate in the front. Kate parks in the back and checks out the flickering blue lights on the third floor, the strange glow on the first, and is suddenly grateful she has her weapon.

"Stay here, Castle. I swear. Do not, under any circumstances, bring my son into this place," she says, glaring at him as she gets out.

"Copy that."

When Kate eases open the metal access door at the back of the property, she's glad that Castle is staying in the car.

It's as bad as she expected.

No security lamps outside, and no electricity inside, but someone has set fire to rubbish in a metal trash can to the left of the door. It smells like urine and fried eggs. Kate winces as the rusted door squeals and glances around, wary. Two guys are standing just past the firepit, watching intently as a girl in the floor does a line of coke off the back of her hand. The girl's head comes up as she snuffles, and her eyes are closed, but that doesn't seem to deter the two guys.

One is now looking at Kate though, sizing her up, so she confronts him. "Elevator?"

He continues to watch her, but the other guy jerks his head to the right and hunches down next to the girl.

Shit. She's going to have to call this in.

Kate heads to the elevator and presses the call button, but of course, it's not working. She glances down the hall and finds the stairs, starts her way up.

No lights inside the stairwell either. She uses her phone to give her a working radius and clears the first landing, by-passing a couple grinding against the cement blocks. She can now hear the pulse of trance music, deep and hypnotic, as it bounces around the stairwell.

A door shuts; she hears giggling and voices. She rounds the second landing, takes the last few steps up to the third floor door, ignoring the two girls with plastic cups in their hands leaning over the railing. She does, however, grab one girl by the back of her tube top as she starts to go over.

The girl shrieks just as Kate opens the door; the girl falls to the floor in laughter as the other one dribbles drink down the stairwell. Kate leaves them to it.

Recalling the layout of the building, she heads for the non-functioning elevator to her right, pushing through bodies, feeling the beat rattle around in her rib cage.

Black light and trance music. It never changes.

The dance floor gives way to the makeshift bar, but one doesn't really seem to be separate from the other. People drink and grind on both ends of the open-floor room.

A hand out of the darkness. Kate wraps her fingers around the wrist and twists; a girl stumbles forward, gasping, slurring a hello with something like seduction. Her teeth are yellow in the black light; she has track marks up her arm.

"Hands off," Kate yells in the girl's ear, then shoves her back.

A couple guys right in front of her, smirking, slide up on either side of her to block her in. She doesn't even have to touch them, just maneuvers away, slipping into the crowd before they can reach for her.

And then she's at the elevator and a warm body comes flying at her with a gasp.

"Mom!" Alexis's arms around her neck, a weak squeeze of welcome.

Kate pulls back to take a look at her, grabbing Alexis's arms and studying her eyes. She's changed into a tight black skirt and a stringy, sparkling top. Kate wonders when, where.

"Alexis," she hisses, and yanks her forward, taking Alexis's chin between her fingers. "You're stoned."

"I know," she whimpers and breaks away from Kate's grip. "I know, I know, I know!"

"No one put anything in your drink! You are high."

"No!" Alexis shakes her head too emphatically. "No, no. Not high-high. Just light-high. But it's not right, not right, Kate. It felt bad, and now it's kinda drifting away, but my heart is still racing and my skin is crawling and I can't shut up, I just keep talking. Holy crap, Kate, you gotta get me out of here-"

"Right." She grabs Alexis's hand and squeezes it, then nods to the girl on the floor beside the elevator. "That Paige?"

"Yeah. She just passed out, like two minutes ago. I called you right after we, you know, and tried to take her downstairs, but there were these creepy guys giving me the date-rape vibe and I took her back up here and we've been hiding over here-" Alexis is bouncing on her toes, squeezing back Kate's hand so hard that her bones grinds together.

"All right, hush, Alexis. Help me get her up. We have to use the stairs."

She leans down and gets a shoulder in Paige's armpit, Alexis at the other side, and they both lift. Kate's surprised when Alexis is still bouncing on her toes, jiggling Paige up and down.

"Don't tell my Dad, Kate. Please don't tell my Dad-"

"He's waiting in the car. Now help me, Alexis. Move." She shoves on the unconscious Paige, which in turn bumps Alexis forward. The three of them start pushing their way back through the dance floor to the exit stairs, even as Alexis rattles non-stop about nothing and everything.

Kate ignores the hands that reach for them, but she makes sure to keep her elbow pressed against her weapon so that nothing happens to it. Alexis is slightly ahead of her and the crowd parts slowly, but they make it back to the stairs without much incident.

In the stairwell, the two girls are giggling in the floor. Alexis drops Paige suddenly, making the dead weight of her friend swing precariously in Kate's grasp.

"Courtney!" Alexis says, stooping down. "I haven't seen-"

"Alexis Castle, stand up right now!" Kate growls.

Alexis jumps back up and grabs Paige, then stumbles down the first step.

"Alexis. Wait. Hold up. Let me go first." She can't have Alexis falling down the stairs and breaking her neck. Kate maneuvers herself around to the front, putting Paige's weight practically on her back, and Alexis gets Paige's other side, 'helping' her. It's slower this way, and she hopes Castle isn't getting antsy. Or if he is, that he's not doing something stupid like taking her son in this building.

Kate makes it down the first flight of stairs before she has to rest, leaning up against the wall. She glances back to check on Alexis and the girl's eyes are starting to look better. She's not so jumpy either.

"Kate."

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry."

"Feeling better?"

"Worse."

"Then you're feeling better," she says. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

She told Castle to lay off Alexis, but she can't help wanting to flay the girl alive for this.

"I don't know."

"You had to voluntarily smoke it, Alexis. It wasn't in your drink."

"I did," she whispers, and shuts her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You've smoked before." Kate doesn't ask, she just glares, catching her breath as she leans against the stairwell.

"Yeah. In the dorm. Just a few times. But this wasn't the same, Kate. Either the grass we get in college is really really weak, or this stuff-"

"They laced it with cocaine," Kate says blandly, clamping her mouth shut and shaking her head.

"What. . .?"

"That's what they do at a party like this, Alexis. Did Lofton bring you here?"

"No! No, it was Paige and the kids from Marlowe. We went to this guy's house first; I thought it was just gonna be a party there, and then we all got in his car and he drove us here. And then they were all getting lit, and I didn't, but they brought out the pipe and-"

"And you just. . ."

"They laced it with cocaine?" she whispers.

Kate sighs and gets Paige on her back again, starts down the stairs with Alexis helping. "You'll be okay. Can't have been much. It's already wearing off. Smoking it leads to a shorter high, at least."

"I feel sick."

Kate glances back, but it doesn't look like she means right now, just. . in general. "This was really stupid of you, Alexis."

"I know, Kate. I'm sorry."

"I told your dad he can't yell at you tonight. But you're fair game tomorrow."

Alexis finally meets her eyes. "Thank you."

"But that doesn't stop *me* from yelling at you. This was really stupid. Really, really stupid. I don't know what your father thinks about smoking this stuff in your dorm, whatever. As a cop, of course, it's illegal. And you're not even 21. Whatever you're drinking here, I don't want to know. But smoking something you *don't* know at a party? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I know," she whispers again, and her eyes fill with tears. "I wasn't."

"You asked for this," Kate growls back. "You want to call me mom? Fine. But I get to yell at you like my mom yelled at me."

"Did you do. . .something like this?" Alexis is still sniffling behind her.

"Something like it."

"Did you get in trouble?"

"Same kind of trouble you're gonna be in," Kate promises, then misses a step and slides awkwardly down to the bottom floor on her ankle. She winces, tests it out, but it seems okay. "Let's get out of here."


	40. Chapter 40

Dashiell woke as soon as Kate slammed the car door, of course, and Castle has spent the last twenty-three minutes alternating between frustration and panic. He's too anxious to be convincing to Dash, and the kid whines pitifully from the car seat even as Castle tries to distract him with leftover cheetos he dug out of the bag. But when he spies Kate struggling through the back door, propping up Paige with Alexis on the other side, his daughter stumbling, relief makes him light-headed.

He gets out of the car, glances side to side to make sure they're still alone, and comes forward to relieve Kate of Paige. The girl isn't out cold; she mumbles something to Alexis in a whiny voice as Castle swings her over his shoulder. He's not willing to be gentle right now.

Especially not after seeing Alexis. His nostrils flair; he opens his mouth but Kate steps into him, shoving him back, her eyes narrowing at him.

And damn. He made a promise.

He turns back to the car wordlessly, wrenches open the back door, and gestures towards Alexis.

"You first. Don't want Paige puking on my son."

He knows his tone is clipped, but it's the best he can do right now. He's this close to grabbing Alexis by the shoulders and shaking her.

She gets meekly into the car, tripping over the frame, coming to her knees in the backseat. As she crawls up next to Dashiell's car seat, Castle practically dumps Paige in next to her, avoiding his daughter's eyes. Dashiell is crying again.

"Daddy-"

He shuts the door, turns to see Kate with her phone to her ear.

She glances at him, comes closer to wrap her fingers around his forearm. "I've got to call this in, Rick."

"We'll wait."

"No. Alexis shouldn't be here when they get here."

"I am *not* leaving you in Spanish Harlem at two in the morning, Detective."

"I have my weapon. I'll be-"

"This is non-negotiable."

"I'll need to make an official statement," she says softly, stepping in to kiss him, but breaking off as a disembodied voice comes over the phone. "Yes. This is Detective Beckett with the One-Two. Badge number 41319. I need to connect with whoever's on call in your Vice unit. . . .Thanks."

She glances at him, her fingers still wrapped around his arm. "I need you to take the girls and Dash home, Castle. I'll get a ride with-"

"No." Castle wants everyone with him after a night like this. But he can hear Dashiell wailing even out here, and Paige should probably get home as well. And he doesn't want Alexis getting arrested. Well. . .no, no he doesn't. "Compromise. Soon as I see blue lights, I'll drop the girls and Dash off at the apartment; Alexis can call Paige's parents to come get her. I come back out here and get you."

"I'll be tied up here for hours, Castle."

"I can wait. Alexis can freak out in her room and get Dashiell back to bed. I am *not* leaving you here alone."

The line clicks over, and Castle can hear the detective in Vice identifying himself, so Kate sighs and mouths _Fine_ to him.

Figuring he's only won this round because of the detective's interruption, Castle turns back to the car and gets in the driver's seat. The keys are in the cup holder; Dashiell is sobbing and shoving at Alexis's face as the girl tries to cheer him up or distract him.

"Alexis," Castle barks, looking at her in the rear view mirror.

Alexis startles and jumps back; Dashiell quiets in stunned awe, staring at his father.

Castle tries to control his tone and manages a softer voice. "Get out of his face. You're scaring him." All drugged out and trippy and-

He grits his teeth, rubs at his eyes and glances out the passenger window towards Kate. She's still talking with the detective, and now she's nodding, pacing around as she listens. She's got a slight hesitance to her walk that means a strained muscle; her arms are bare in the relative humidity of the early, early morning. Jeans and a tshirt and a gun. And she's tall, sure, but she's a white girl in Spanish Harlem with maybe a hundred and twenty pounds on her.

"Daddy-"

He holds up a finger and doesn't turn around. If Alexis tries to talk to him right now, he will lose it. He can smell it on her. Weed and something else. Probably the party. And she's been drinking; he could tell *that* from her breath when she leaned in close to him getting into the car.

Not that he's assumed that Alexis has avoided all alcohol since attending college. He's hoped she has, but realistically, he thinks she's probably tried it a few times. The marijuana bothers him. A lot. She knows how he feels about that. And, on top of that, there was something very still and very scary in Kate's eyes when she brought the two girls out, something that tells him he doesn't know the half of it.

Kate opens the passenger door and slides into the seat, pulling it closed softly. "They're minutes away. As soon as we hear sirens, you're out of here. Got me?"

He nods briskly. Castle realizes he's clenching the steering wheel only when Kate slides her hand over one of his and pries his fingers up, squeezing.

He turns to look at her, meets her eyes, reads everything she won't say. _It's okay. Alexis is okay. I've got this._

Castle lets out a little breath, and Kate turns her head to check out the kids. He notices that she doesn't smile at Alexis's hopeful look, only reaches back to check the tightness on the two girls' seat belts.

"Dash, how you doing, buddy?" she says, drawing a hand down his cheek.

"Mom-ma," he whines. "Car."

"Yeah, Daddy's gonna take you home in a minute, little man. Alexis, when you get home, you call Paige's parents and have them come pick her up. Then you go to your room."

Alexis opens her mouth, maybe in protest or defense, but Castle, who is watching them in the rear view mirror, clears his throat and gives her a warning. "Alexis."

Kate, hidden from Alexis's line of sight, puts her other hand on Castle's knee and squeezes. He locks eyes with Alexis in the rear view mirror, says nothing more. The girl drops her face; he can see she's crying.

He's never felt this before, but he's glad she's crying. He wants her to be crying. Because just the thought of Alexis at this damn party, drinking with her stupid Marlowe friends, smoking pot like an idiot after everything-

Kate squeezes his knee tighter and he takes a deep breath, gets himself back together.

"Sirens," she says.

He looks up, but of course he can't see them yet. And then he *does* hear sirens, so he starts up the car.

Kate leans over and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth, whispers as she draws back so that only he can hear her: "Keep your promise."

She gets out, shuts the door quietly, and waits in the dark lot behind the warehouse. Castle rolls the car forward, makes a tight U-turn, and heads back to the freeway.

* * *

><p>He does keep his promise. But he has to do it by staying absolutely silent on the drive back. When he parks in the underground garage and unfastens Dashiell's safety harness, the boy only stares up at him, obviously clued in on the tension in the car. Castle sighs, unwinds the straps from his little arms, and pulls him out, carrying him against his chest. Dash doesn't even try to get down.<p>

Castle moves to the other side of the car, waits until Alexis has crawled out, and then regards her for a moment.

"Don't drop my son," he says, and hands the boy over to her, still watching her. She takes Dashiell like he's a newborn, cradling the boy's head against her chest, her face stricken.

Castle reaches into the car and hoists Paige out. The girl came around a bit in the car, enough to disjointedly beg him not to call her parents, but Alexis managed to calm her down and get her quiet again.

He helps Paige to the elevator, mostly holding her up, keeping Alexis in front of him. If it comes down to it, he will drop the girl to dart forward and catch his son, but he's pretty sure that whatever high Alexis was on earlier has all but faded.

Her eyes are still red, but that could be from the crying.

In the elevator, he doesn't speak, and Alexis knows better now than to try it again. Paige slumps against the wall of the elevator, moaning with every little jerk of the cables, looking washed out and sick to her stomach.

As soon as the doors open on their floor, Castle hustles them down the hall to the loft, opens the door quickly with his key, and then manhandles Paige onto the sofa. Alexis, still carrying Dash close to her, stands in the foyer.

"Call her parents," he says, and takes Dashiell from her.

It takes the whole walk up the stairs, and the journey down the hall, and even the darkness of Dash's bedroom for his body to relax, just a little bit. When it does, Dashiell drops his head to his father's chest and sighs.

"You and me, both, buddy," Castle says, kissing the top of his head, trying to be calmer.

Dash looks up at him, eyes still round and wondering, and pats Castle's cheek.

"Daddy hurt?"

"Yeah, buddy, little bit. But it'll be ok. I'm gonna go get Mommy, and it'll be fine."

"Fine, fine. Momma."

"You got it." Castle check's the kid's diaper, still dry, and moves to the crib. "Time to sleep now, kid. Night-night."

"Night-night, Daddy," he sighs, and burrows into the sheet as soon as Castle eases him down.

He's never heard Dashiell say that before, and he spends a minute standing in the darkness of his son's room, wondering if some day, he'll be driving out to Spanish Harlem to pick up Dashiell.

Or maybe Dash won't ever be smart enough to call. Maybe Dash is too wild for his own good, and he's one of the instigators of a party like that and-

He grips the side of the crib, leans over to put his forehead on the railing, eyes closed against it.

Castle takes in a long, long breath, lets it out.

_Gotta go get Kate._

He recreates the tent over the top of Dash's crib, runs a hand down the boy's head in blessing, and creeps out of the room. He thinks Dashiell is already asleep.

Back downstairs, Alexis stands in roughly the same place, but with her phone in her hand.

Castle takes a look at her, his chest still aching, and reaches out to grab her, not sure what he's going to do until he squeezes his hands around her shoulders and pulls her in tight. His hug is a little brutal, but brief, and he lets her go, pushes her back away from him before he *does* start shaking her.

"Soon as her parents get here, you go to your room," he says.

She nods, still not looking at him, but he thinks maybe she's crying again.

Good. _Good._ He feels better thinking she's crying over it. Maybe it means it will never happen again.

He scoops his keys out of the bowl on his way back out the door, locks it behind him, and goes to pick up Kate.

He does *not* like that he's left Kate out there.


	41. Chapter 41

He can't park close this time, so he sets the alarm on the Audi and pockets his keys, keeping his eyes alert. East Harlem is a mixture of gangs, poverty, and vibrant color, but tonight the only color he sees is the blue light of police cars, bathing everything in a kind of garish, carnival atmosphere.

As Castle gets closer to the warehouse, he can hear police radios, car doors, hysterical girls, shouting kids, a couple of laughs. The warehouse is crawling with uniforms, most of the kids are being led in restraints to one of the three vans parked in the back lot, while detectives questions the ones who look most cognizant. One guy on the ground is screaming bloody murder while an officer yells the Miranda warning right over the noise. Castle scans the knot of detectives and spots Kate immediately, not the only one in jeans and a tshirt, but the tallest of the women, and by far the most striking.

She lifts a hand to him, down at her side, her eyes quickly meeting his, and he makes his way over, surprised to see she's standing across from Detective Tom Demming. A couple of other good-looking, rougher-cut guys, a woman who looks to be in her early twenties but can't possibly be, and an older man with the look of a desk jockey complete the group. They seem to be comparing notes, rounding up the last of the instructions.

He waits at the fringes until a natural break in the older man's directions gives Kate the opportunity to introduce him. Castle steps up to her side, being careful not to touch her, mindful of her rules, even if they've never been voiced aloud.

"This is my ride, guys. Rick, this is the Vice Squad, sorry, half of the Vice Squad-" Her amendment gets a chuckle all around, "-of the Two-Three in East Harlem. You know Tom, and then Anthony, Sanchez, Moreno, and Captain Salas. Guys this is Rick."

Sanchez is the woman, Anthony looks Italian and sure of himself, while Moreno is the non-smiling one. Castle shakes hands, and notices that Tom doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Hey man, good seeing you again. How'd you get here?" Castle gives Demming a smile.

Captain Salas claps Tom on the back. "He's been with us almost two years. Vice in the 23rd is a pretty big department; we're glad to have him."

Castle feels Kate brush against him, her hand pressing against his, and doesn't pursue it. But he does the math in his head, counts back, and realizes that almost two years is just after he and Kate got married, maybe two months after she told everyone in the 12th she was pregnant.

Well. There's that mystery solved.

Castle endures some good-natured teasing from the guys about being the author ride-along, about being the stay at home dad, and lets Kate say her good-byes, before they start a slow walk back to the car. Kate, to his surprise, slides her hand into his before they're clear of the site, and most definitely still in view of the other detectives.

"Thank you for not pressing it."

With Tom she means. "It'd be petty."

"You figured it out then."

Castle casts a glance over at her, wonders if there is something else he should be figuring out, but ignores that. "You okay?"

"Good. You, uh, left Dash with Alexis?" she says, and he feels the tremor of her heart beating in her wrist.

He pauses on the sidewalk for half a second, lifts his eyebrow at her in her own familiar way. "It was just some marijuana. Kate. Right?"

"Right," she says and nods. "Just, you know, Alexis was okay?"

"Looked pretty stone cold sober by the time I left her."

"You didn't say anything, Castle, did you?" she sighs.

"Not. . .just, 'go to your room.' And I might have said, 'Don't drop my son,' when we got out of the car. She carried him up to the loft while I had Paige. She was mostly in control of her motor functions, if that's what you're getting at."

Kate bumps her hip against his, giving him a look. "No, I mean, I just wanted to be sure she was starting to feel better."

He looks at her awhile as they walk, then pulls the keys out of his pocket, remote unlocks the doors. She holds her hand out, and he drops them into her palm, realizing that he's unconsciously walked to the passenger side.

She quirks her lips at him and gets behind the wheel.

Once inside the relative quiet of the Audi, Kate locks the doors and looks over at him. "Are you okay?"

"Not really." He leans his head back and closes his eyes, pushes out his breath before looking at her again. "What are we going to do about Alexis?"

For some reason, Kate's face breaks into some emotion he can't name, an abrupt shift from concern and caution to. . .is that joy? It makes no sense. His brain must be scrambled.

"Thank you."

For what?

"I have an idea," she says. "If you'll let me."

He rubs at his eyes. "I'm out of ideas. Lay it on me."

"My mom did it to me," she starts off, turning over the engine, finally getting them on the road. "She was a lawyer; she had contacts. After I. . .did some similar stupid stuff, mom made an appointment for a viewing."

"A viewing?" Castle watches her drive expertly through the mostly empty streets. If he weren't so exhausted, so mentally worn out as well, he'd be all over that similar stupid stuff comment. Maybe tomorrow. Peel the Beckett onion.

"An autopsy."

Her jerks in the seat. "What?"

"I can call Lanie, set it up. There's always a John or Jane Doe who OD'd down at OCME. I'll bet Lanie has an autopsy for tomorrow she can get us into, even if she's not doing it herself."

"Wow." He rubs his face, laughs because he can't help it. "That is. . .wicked. I bet your mom would've scared the crap out of me. Especially when I got your pregnant. And what'd the autopsy viewing do to you? When you were in trouble?"

"Scared the crap out of me." There's a catch in her voice and he glances over, realizing what he's said. Stupid. She would probably love to be able to share that with her mom now, all of it. "Actually, it gave me nightmares for weeks. And three years later, when my mom died, I had dreams that they were cutting her open, weighing her organs. . ."

"Oh, Kate-"

She shakes her head at him and he shuts up, waiting until she's not so tremulous. She clears her throat and merges onto the expressway, heading back home.

"I'll talk with her tonight, when we get home, Castle. If she's. . .if it seems necessary. . .?"

He blinks and watches the Audi pass the other cars, tries to wrestle against his burning need to make Alexis hurt for this. Not because he wants to bring her pain, but because he feels blindsided by the stupidity of her actions. And what else is left?

"The thing is, Kate. . .if she's going to be this stupid, this immature and. . .do something so dangerous. . .I don't know how else to make her understand."

"Yeah," Kate says softly. "If even a smart, wise girl like Alexis can wind up doing something like this, then. . ."

He shivers. "And when I put Dash to bed, all I could think about was what we'd be doing in fifteen years. Are we going to be driving out to come pick *him* up?"

Kate groans. "Do not even start that, Castle."

"I know. I know, right? Couldn't help it."

"He's not even two. And already he likes knives and stairs and-"

"Baseball," Castle interrupts, grinning at her.

She glances over at him, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Baseball." But the tone in her voice reminds him that they've still got their own issues, these messy things that keep cropping up between them. "Think baseball can save him?" she says softly.

"No," he answers, lifting his hand to brush it down her cheek. "But we can."

* * *

><p>After the door closes behind Paige and her parents, everyone yelling at each other and blaming each other for Paige's current state, Alexis drops to her knees in the living room and sobs.<p>

She rocks back on her feet, presses her forehead to her knees, and tries to control the violent shaking that has taken over, even as her tears mix with her mascara and stain her pale knees.

The sparkly top, the skirt, the extra make-up feel gross, clingy, and she crawls to the couch, uses it to help lever herself up. Alexis holds both handrails as she climbs the stairs, still shaking with tears, and locks herself in the bathroom.

_Go to your room._

She hasn't been told that in punishment. . .ever.

It's not her Dad's anger. She's met that a couple of times and it's familiar. Her Dad has done stupid stuff before and that gives them a kind of equality when it comes to this kind of thing. She knows that her Dad remembers what it's like to be stupid and young and think you're immortal because he used be like that. . .and not so long ago.

Alexis turns on the shower, hot as she can get it, and strips off the stupid clothes.

Her Dad's broken trust? That's a wound in her flesh. The brokenness of it in his eyes when he looked at her in the car. . .

Alexis pushes her face into the spray, choking on water and tears, scrubbing at the black rings of make-up around her eyes.

Time travel must not exist. Ever. Not now, not then, not in the future. Ever. Because if it did, the sheer force of her will would have catapulted her back in time to stop herself from ever even answering Paige's text, sitting in the backseat next to Kate after the game, feeling happy and warm and loved. While now. . .

She wants so badly to make it not have happened. Just one little moment. Change one little thing. Please. Just let me-

Because the worst part isn't it even the trust between her dad and herself; that's fix-able. The worst part is the disappointment in Kate's eyes when she found Alexis, a little drunk, and a lot high.

The disappointment.

Oh God. She leans over in the shower, feeling like she ought to vomit, like she needs to expel everything, but all she can do is sob harder, sink to the shower floor, the water burning her back and neck, unable to face it.

Because Alexis knows, and she knows that Kate knows it too, that if Alexis hadn't started feeling funny tonight, if the marijuana she smoked hadn't felt so wrong, hadn't made her a little paranoid and panicked, she wouldn't have called.

She wouldn't have called.

And it could've been a lot worse.

* * *

><p>She lays on her bed, not sleeping, shivering in her pajamas with the bedding pulled up and her childhood teddy bear tucked under her neck until she hears Kate and her dad get home.<p>

Alexis wants to be a lot more reasonable about all of this, a lot more adult, because she's almost twenty-one, and because it's not like Kate and her dad can actually tell her what to do any more, but the truth is, she feels four years old again, hiding in her room because she spilled Meredith's perfume all in her expensive shoes at the back of the closet.

She hears them talking, wipes the lone streaking tear away from her cheek as she listens to them coming up the stairs. Her father bypasses her room and her heart clenches a little, but he's going in to check on Dash, on her little brother.

_Don't drop my son._

She shivers and uses the bedsheet to wipe at her eyes again, jumps when she hears the click of her door opening.

"I'm coming in." It's Kate, studying her through the gloom.

Alexis sits up a little, nods at her as if she can still give permission. Kate comes to sit beside her on the bed, one arm on the mattress to brace herself as she looks at the girl.

Alexis wipes her face again, can't keep up with the tears coursing silently down her cheeks, under her neck, even in her ear from lying down, and struggles to keep her mouth from breaking into desperate, unattractive sobs. But then Kate reaches out a hand and pushes a piece of damp hair behind her ear, her thumb smoothing Alexis's cheek and everything breaks.

"Mom," Alexis gasps and crashes into Kate, burying her face in Kate's neck and wrapping her arms around Kate's back, weeping.

She feels the hand on her back, the fingers in her wet hair, the murmur of nonsense in her ear as Kate holds her. She cries until her body is wrecked and limp against Kate, until her eyes burn, until her voice goes raw. And Kate lets her.

"You wanna tell me how we got here?" Kate says, and though her voice is soft, her tone has steel to it. It's not a question.

"All-all of uh-us from Marlowe wanted to get together while we were in town. Except it turned out to be mostly Paige's group with a few of us from high school, and we first drove over to Nick's house. And Nick wanted to do something fun, all of us, and we were all talking about college, and our friends there, and Paige got upset and told me I was being a bitch, that I never shut up about college, and so she and Nick decided we could go to this place, this party, better than any preppy college party, and I was thinking, still I guess, it would be like the parties we went to in high school, or even the ones at college, but it wasn't."

Alexis takes in a shuddering breath, the last of her tears drying on her cheeks, and finally pulls back from Kate. She's afraid to look at her, but Kate's face is wiped clean of anything, clean of compassion and condemnation both.

"It was. . .different. And I didn't want to be the one who pitched a fit and demanded we do something else. I mean, I'm not a baby, I'm almost 21, and it just seemed like if I could handle college parties, then I wasn't going to show Paige that I couldn't handle this."

Kate is still silent, but Alexis winds down, not sure what else she should say, knowing that she sounds stupid already.

After a moment, Kate ducks to look at her in the eye, holding her gaze. "Alexis, when did you figure out they were doing cocaine at this party?"

Her mouth twitches; she struggles not to give way to tears again. "Right away."

And she does see it this time, the disappointment that flashes across Kate's face, so small and so well-masked that if Alexis wasn't looking for it, she wouldn't know it for what it is. "I saw a girl downstairs buying from a couple of guys."

"The same ones who were-" Kate waves a hand at her, rubs her face. She looks tired, and a little thread-bare, like she's had enough. "The ones raping that girl as we came down?"

"What?" she whispers.

"You saw them."

"Yeah. But, I mean, everyone up there was going at it, and-"

"You think a girl who's just bought cocaine has the ability to say no? You think she gave them money for it, Alexis? She was passed out on the floor when we came down together."

Alexis covers her face with her hands. "Is she-is she okay now?"

"She got put in an ambulance. Vice arrested the two guys. I gave my statement. I don't know how ok she'll be. Probably in rehab, probably will relapse."

"I didn't know it was that kind of party. I thought it was just some guys Paige and Nick knew. It was fun. They had generators someone had gotten from his dad-"

"-those were stolen earlier tonight-" Kate interjects.

Alexis rushes on. "The generators were keeping the music going, so we were all dancing, and it was fun! Kate, it was fun, and there was alcohol, yeah, but it was just beer, and I know that I'm not 21 yet, but, jeez, Kate, seriously? I've had beer before-"

"And marijuana, apparently."

Kate is still calm and deadly, her face untroubled. And Alexis realizes that this isn't undoing anything, not any of her behavior; in fact, it's just making it worse.

"Yeah. I've smoked."

"A lot?"

"Just. . .some." She sits back a little, clasping her hands in front of her. Kate is a cop. She shouldn't forget that.

"Besides the fact that underage drinking is illegal, besides the fact that you *know* how I feel about drinking-"

Alexis flinches, reminded of Kate's father.

"-besides the fact that you know I'm a cop, Alexis, you also know how your father feels about marijuana, about drugs."

Alexis chews on her lip, blinks as she studies her hands.

"Alexis."

"Yeah. I do."

"So you tell me what your father told you."

Alexis raises her eyes but can't look at Kate or she'll start crying again, and it's so damn embarrassing. "He said it wastes my potential."

When she hears Kate sigh, she risks a glance at her. Kate's eyes have gone tender again, in a way that she's only seen Kate look at Dash, and it makes Alexis's heart beat hard.

"So that's it," Kate says softly, and reaches a hand out to tug on the back of Alexis's neck. She falls into Kate again, shuddering through another couple of breaths in an effort not to cry.

Kate rubs her back. "You're worried about what he'll say about you switching majors."

"Y-yeah?" So?

"You think he won't be proud of you in social work. So you thought, screw it, you'll just waste all kinds of potential, and in comparison, switching majors won't be so bad?"

And then she really does cry, because Alexis didn't realize it before, but that is exactly what she was thinking, even when she first started smoking at school, with her friends, and it was so easy, and made things simple and clear and not so heavy any more-

"Alexis, being a social worker is *not* a waste of potential. In fact, it's just about one of the most amazing, giving, and servant things a person can do. Your father is proud of you, will always be proud of you. He was proud of you when you called tonight, even though he might not have been happy about where you were."

The feel of Kate's hand at her back, a mother's fingers through her hair, her lips pressing a kiss to her forehead, all of it makes Alexis cry a little less, breathe a little easier.

"Are you disappointed in me?" she asks finally, rubbing the heel of her hand across her eye, pulling back to look at Kate.

Kate studies her a moment, and Alexis can see the instant she decides to go with honesty. "Yes. I am."

Alexis chews hard on the inside of her cheek and drops her eyes from Kate's, digging her nails into her palm. Because she deserves this.

"But I love you. Is that. . .does that help at all?"

Alexis swipes at the tears still leaking out of her eyes. "Yeah."

"And you're still in trouble."

"That helps too," she admits, laughing a little, strangled sounding.

"And you've still got to go through your Dad tomorrow."

"Oh." She looks finally at Kate, hesitant and uncertain, but sees just. . .truth there. Alexis hugs her again because she can't keep looking Kate in the eyes and also ask this. "Have I messed it up too much?"

And somehow Kate knows exactly what she means, because she pulls back and cups Alexis's face in her hands. "Hey. You're mine now, kiddo. If I wasn't your mom, I wouldn't be the one up here giving you grief."


	42. Chapter 42

Castle is waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, his face twisted in worry. "How's she?"

Kate stops on the next to last step and leans into him with a sigh of relief. "She'll be okay, Castle."

When he puts his arms around her, she can feel the pounding of his heart. She hasn't told him that it's quite likely that Alexis inhaled coke as well as marijuana. It's just an educated guess, anyway, and she said it mostly to scare Alexis, but the signs were there.

She's not going to add that to his distress.

"Kate-"

"She'll be okay, Rick," she says softly, curling her fingers through the hair at his neck, pressing her forehead into his. "How's Dash?"

"Asleep. And I know, I know I probably shouldn't have left Dash here with Alexis, but I just-"

She shakes her head against him with a little laugh. "I didn't think of it." Kate squeezes her eyes shut and tries to push away the guilt that lays over her like a blanket. "It didn't even occur to me."

"Never mind then," he huffs, reaching a hand up to tangle in her hair. She hates it, usually hates it anyway, but doesn't have the energy to be annoyed. Pinning her down.

Well, that's not entirely the truth; sometimes she absolutely loves it. In a secret, thrilling kind of way. But in an every day way? No.

Still, she feels less. . .played out when he touches her, even if it's to twine his fingers in her hair and hold her head against his. She can feel his breath skirting her cheekbone and the lashes of his left eye moving against her skin as she stands near him. The next to last stair gives her almost four inches on him, and she likes it.

"You're still in your pajamas," she whispers with a smile. "When you walked up and I was standing with all those other detectives-"

"Oh no. I'm so sorry, Kate. You didn't even-"

"No, no," she murmurs, laughing now. "It was. . .a good way to break the tension. Demming made a comment; everyone laughed. I said-"

"Your ride. You said your ride was here."

She leans back, tugging to dislodge his fingers, studying him. Is that bitterness? "It was a joke. You know boys."

"Oh. Your *ride*-" His face reddens with surprise. "Seriously? Kate!"

She grins wider. "I just made you blush. What else was I supposed to do? You come striding up in those baggy sweatpants that barely stay up-" She slides her hand in his waistband to illustrate, and he yelps.

"Your fingers are cold." He grabs her hand, as if he's going to stop her, then slides both arms around her waist and picks her up in a bear hug.

She laughs again. "Put me down, you idiot. You're gonna throw out your back."

He grunts and drops her the last few inches to the floor beside him. "You're right. You ready for that make-up sex?"

She groans and pats his chest with a hand. "Castle. It's nearly four in the morning. I'm-"

"I'm kidding, Kate." He curls his lips around a smile and leans it to give her a sweet, soft kiss. He lingers at the corner of her mouth, brushes his thumb over her cheekbone until she melts a little, easing into him.

"Mmm."

"You can't make noises like that, or I might not be kidding."

"At four a.m.?" she says, giving him an arch of her eyebrow.

"Even at four a.m. and even after a whole week of practically non-stop-"

"It *has* been kinda non-stop, hasn't it?" she smiles, rubbing a finger over the tendon in his neck.

"What can I say? Man or machine?"

She grins, leans in to put her mouth against that ropy place along the side of his neck, feels him swallow against her. She lets her teeth brush his skin, nibble, and his hands come up to hold her head against him.

"Kay-ate," he groans, swallows again. "Might, might not be kidding."

She releases him, ducks out from under his grip, and heads for their bedroom. "Just cuddle tonight, Castle. Will that do you?"

She hears him sigh loudly behind her and grins to herself.

"Can I at least watch you change into your pajamas?"

* * *

><p>She must be way past exhausted. ExhaustedKate frowns at him and pushes his hands away when he tries to cuddle. SexyKate quickly takes control of his wandering hands. AmusedKate lets him linger a little while, but then drifts to her side of the bed. But WayPastExhaustedKate must really be too tired to care any longer, if she's promising cuddles.<p>

He will have to file this away for future use.

Castle loves sleeping with Kate full-length against him, her cheek mashed against his shoulder, her legs between his so that her toes curl around his calves. She's almost as tall as he is in her heels, but barefoot and in pajamas, she still likes to be equal, not willing to lose ground.

He wriggles in bed a little, happy, and nicely worn out, waiting for Kate to come out of the bathroom. He's placed himself in the middle of the bed, crammed their pillows together (because at some point during the night, she'll roll off him to sleep on her pillow and if he can keep it close enough, she'll stay close as well). The lights are already off, but he's left the window blinds open so she can see her way back to the room.

Toothbrush dangling from her mouth, Kate stalks into the bedroom and walks around the bed to get to her side. He watches her until she reaches for the alarm clock.

"Hey, not-uh," he says, lunging up to grab it away.

Kate pulls her toothbrush out and glares at him. "Castle."

"Tomorrow is Saturday, you crazy woman. We agreed. Sleep in Saturdays."

She raises an eyebrow. "But you've got 5K training tomorrow."

"And, Kate, honey, it's four o'clock in the morning. You are *insane* if you think I'm letting an alarm clock wake me up tomorrow to run."

She jabs the toothbrush in his direction, narrows her eyes, then stalks back around the bed. "I'm not through with you," she calls out, heading back for the bathroom to spit.

He hides her alarm clock under the bed on his side, jerks his arm back up when she comes prowling back into the room sans toothbrush.

"You are running with me tomorrow," she says.

"Fine. Yes, I'm running. But not at seven in the morning. Which is, you know, three hours from now. Not at eight. Not at nine. Not even at ten. Nope. Sleep in Saturday. Even if I get up at ten, that will only be six hours of sleep. It will not happen."

She sits on his side of the bed, studying him. Kate, though stubborn and bull-headed, evidently sees the wisdom in his argument, because she merely shoves him down on the bed and crawls over him.

"Hey! You took my alarm clock."

"Because I knew you'd still want to set it," he replies, wrapping both arms around her waist to drag her back to the middle of the bed.

"But Dash-"

"I am a smart, smart man, Kate Beckett." He grins at the flare of heat in her eyes when he says her name (he *really* likes having that little weapon in his arsenal against Kate's defenses). "Look."

He reaches to his own bedside table and holds up the little receiver with its steady, green light.

"Ah." She's gotten back out of bed to close the blinds; she likes it deep dark when she sleeps. She crawls back in, a black form against the dark of the room, her body warm against his in the dark.

"Baby monitor. I turned it on when I went in to check on him. Listen." He turns up the volume and they both hear the white noise of the boy's room, then the smacking lips of Dashiell in dreams.

A slow grin spreads across her face, a swathe of light in the dark. Castle turns the monitor back down a little.

"Mm, you are a smart, smart man. So. Sleep in Saturday is in full effect?"

"Yes ma'am."

"When you do get up. . .naturally, of course. . .will you run with me then?"

"Are you asking?" Castle deposits the baby monitor back to his bedside table and rolls over into her. "Because it's sexy when you don't ask."

"I'm asking," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Darn."

She curls her arms up between them, rests her chin on her fists, wriggles closer to him as he pulls the sheets up over them. Yeah, WayPastExhaustedKate is a snuggler. He really likes this.

Castle wraps his arm around her back, pulls her in a little closer. "Mm, minty fresh."

"Just for you, stud."

It makes his heart pound, and she knows it, the little minx. Castle dips his head to kiss her mouth, slow and torturous, until she gives a breathy little gasp.

"As long as you let me sleep in, I'll go run with you whenever it is I do manage to drag my ass out of bed. But-"

"No, no buts-"

"But," he insists, sliding his hand down to squeeze in emphasis. "But am I gonna wake up with you in my arms?"

"No," she snorts, cracking a smile because she's apparently so tired she can't even keep a straight face when he's the butt of her jokes. "No. But if you're really lucky, I may still be in your bed."

"Deal, Detective."

She huffs and draws an arm around his neck, letting her fingers twirl in the hair at his neck, her eyes closing. She really is so tired, isn't she? And then he realizes what it is she's doing, and where he's felt it before.

"Hey," he whispers against her closed eyes, nudging her with his knee.

"Trying to sleep here, Castle."

"Mm, still. Guess what?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll just tell you." She's still got one fist up under her chin, the other hand at his neck, fingers in his hair. "You're just like Dash, twirling your fingers in my hair when you're tired."

She freezes for a second, then opens her eyes to look at him in the near-dark of their bedroom. "He does that to me too."

He sighs. "It's nice."

Kate splays her hand along his neck, smiles that long and weary smile that somehow makes his heart hurt. "It is nice. Now I understand."

And she closes her eyes again.


	43. Chapter 43

"Castle."

He groans when a body flops down beside him, cracks his eyes open a little to check the window. Weak sunlight filters through the still-closed blinds.

"I know, I know. Give me two seconds and then you can go back to sleep."

He closes his eyes. It feels like five in the morning. An hour of sleep? "One. Two."

"_Rick._"

The desperation in her voice has him opening his eyes, turning his head to look at her, confused, a sense of distant panic struggling in his gut.

She's got a towel pressed against her pajama shirt, her nose buried in it. He blinks slowly, rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"Did you wash this, or did Linda?"

"Huh?"

She shoves the light blue towel in his face, under his nose, her eyes bright. "Did you wash this, Castle?"

"Uh. . .s'at blue?"

"Yeah. I just pulled it off the top of the stack."

Was she showering already? Maybe it's later than five. He feels drugged.

"Castle."

"Uh, gimme a sec," he mumbles, blinks the sleep from his eyes, tries to orient his brain. "Blue towels. Did the laundry last week, put'um away myself." He lets his eyes shut.

"What did you use? Rick." She actually peels his eyelid back, her hair falling from her shoulder to brush his cheek. "Rick. What kind of detergent?"

"I dunno," he mutters, jerking his head back.

"Please."

"You allergic?" He lifts his head up to look at her, supremely confused about this conversation.

"No. It smells like my mom."

Well, now he's awake.

Castle lifts up on his forearms and leans in to smell the towel. "Your mom?"

"How she used to do laundry. I've never-" She tilts her head back, as if to keep tears from spilling down her face.

Castle sits up, wincing as his body cracks and pops. "Kate."

"I just want to know what the magic combination is," she says, putting her face back in the towel to sniff it delicately.

The last thing he wants to do is get out of bed. But this. "Let me go check. I don't remember."

She puts a hand to his chest and shakes her head. "No, that's okay. Later. It can wait. Go back to bed."

A tumble of words from his normally efficient Kate. He traps her hand against his chest and leans in to brush a closed-mouth kiss to her cheek.

"I will check later. I think it was the usual stuff. I don't remember doing anything differently."

"Go back to bed," she says, pushing on his chest so that he gets the hint and eases back down to his pillow.

"Are you up?"

"No. Had to go to the bathroom."

She still clutches the towel like Dash clutches his soft baby blanket. Castle cups a hand around her shoulder and tugs her down against him, surprised when she comes. He wraps both arms around her, tilts his head to see his clock.

6:30. Lots of time, still. The baby monitor shows the normal green bars of white noise and sleeping baby, thank goodness.

Kate curls an arm around the towel and lays practically on top of him, her head tucked against his neck so that his chin rests against her. He rubs a hand up and down her back, wonders what she's remembering.

She gives one of those little stutter-sighs that little kids do when they've been crying hard, and Castle lifts his head to look at her. Not crying, but her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, the towel up near her face.

He cradles her close, a hand to her neck, and turns on his side so that he can see her. She refuses to be seen, burying her face against him. It's been a really long night, they've been up until the early morning, and now Kate's close to falling apart. She looks like she's trying to hold herself together.

Castle presses another kiss to the top of her head, rubs his hand in circles on her back like he does for Dash when the boy can't fall asleep. Of course, it makes Castle drowsy too, and his eyes close; he feels his body sinking into the mattress, into her.

"Wake me if you need me," he murmurs and tightens his arms, briefly, around her before letting sleep take him.

* * *

><p>He drifts into awareness, catches the sound of voices. After a weightless second, he realizes it's Kate on the baby monitor, murmuring to Dash to go back to sleep. It does the same for him.<p>

* * *

><p>He feels her knees pull up and he rolls towards her, snuggling. It's not as dark, the drop of her hand in his hair, fingers trailing, assures him she's still there.<p>

His shoulder against her hip. He opens an eye and blinks, slowly dragging consciousness up with him. She's sitting up in bed, reading, one hand turning a page, the other warm and heavy against his head, her fingers tracing the edges of his ear.

Still here.

* * *

><p>"You sleep like a champ," she whispers.<p>

He struggles out of blackness, feeling suffocated. Kate is curled around his back and up over his head so that her mouth is at his ear. Her knees in his shoulder blades. An arm around his chest. Pressure.

A movement and then Dashiell's face as he crawls up to Castle's neck and wriggles himself down into the warm spot at his chest.

"Still trying to," he mutters, turning his head to look at Kate.

She is grinning. "It's eleven o'clock."

"And so?"

"Alexis is in her room until you go talk to her."

He groans. "I need more sleep for that."

"You're fine, big baby."

"Big baby," Dashiell echoes happily, curled up in the space between Castle's arms.

"You're the big baby," Castle mutters, squeezing his son. Rick lays there, letting his body recover. "I feel whipped."

"That wasn't me," she whispers and uses her teeth to lightly tug on his ear.

"Hey now," he growls, lifting a hand to capture her by the neck. "Don't be starting something you won't finish."

She laughs again and dislodges his hand, lifts up from the bed, and him, slides off. "That's true. No more torture. Come on, Dashiell. We'll make lunch."

"Daddy," Dash says, pushing his bottom into Castle's chest as if he wants to dig in.

"Daddy's coming, wild man," he mutters and drops a heavy kiss to Dashiell's cheek. "Let me get a shower."

Kate stands at the end of the bed, her hand still out as if expecting Dash to take it. Castle reaches down and grabs the kid, lifts him up to her. Kate takes a step closer, snags the boy, and lets him down on the floor.

"Daddy," Dashiell says again, but runs for the open bedroom door with a shriek that sounds something like: "Swords!"

Castle, with a wince, gets out of bed and stumbles like a drunkard for the bathroom, one knee giving way.

"Shower fast, Castle. We still gotta get a run in before it gets hot."

"Slave driver."


	44. Chapter 44

When he's showered, he does feel more awake. Eleven o'clock isn't the latest he's ever slept in, but it's the latest he's managed recently. Since Dashiell for sure, and now that he's thinking about it, probably since he started following the detectives of the 12th.

It feels good. It wasn't a ton of sleep, but the lateness of the day somehow makes him feel like he's so well-rested. Go figure.

Castle heads out to the kitchen in jeans and a tshirt, runs a hand through still-wet hair, and greets Dashiell at the bar. The boy is on his knees in the booster seat, pushing scrambled eggs around on the countertop before he pops them in his mouth.

"What're you doing, buddy?"

Dashiell looks up and smiles brightly. "Trains!"

"Your eggs are trains?"

"Up Daddy!"

"I'm up, yeah," Castle smiles back, leaning down to kiss Dashiell's forehead, hand at his neck.

"Too, too, too!" Dashiell pushes a chunk of scrambled eggs towards his sippy cup, then leans down to lick it up.

"Okay, buddy, choo, choo. Uh. . .maybe don't lick-"

"How much can it hurt?" Kate interrupts, handing him an empty plate. "We wipe it down every night. And it's easier than forcing him to eat from his plate. I'm picking my battles, Castle. Your idea. Now, brunch? Made scrambled eggs, toast."

He watches Dash suck another piece of egg off the counter, then grins at her, grabs her wrist instead of the plate so he can tug her a little closer. "Good morning, wife."

"You only say that 'cause I made you brunch."

"How I like 'em. My wives I mean." He pauses to let her smack his chest, then starts filling up his plate with scrambled eggs. "This is just about the extent of your culinary abilities."

"This and spaghetti," she agrees, catching a piece of scrambled egg as Dashiell choo choos it to the floor.

"You make a mean spaghetti."

"And from scratch," she brags, tossing the egg in the trash. "Well. Sort of."

Castle gives her a look. "Well, it doesn't come out of a jar, pre-made, so yeah. It's scratch for you, Beckett."

Kate grins, picks up another few pieces of dropped egg to ferry them to the trash can too.

"You're in a great mood," Castle says, smiling at her with an arched eyebrow. He slathers margarine on a piece of toast and takes a big bite.

"I am," Kate admits, leaning against the counter while Castle takes a seat beside Dash at the bar. "Actually. I am."

"After last night-"

"Yeah. Well. I think we needed that fight. Cleaned some stuff out. Oh, and don't forget Alexis. She's confined to her room until you talk to her. She hasn't asked for any food, but. . .she's gotta be hungry."

"Oh yeah." And Alexis is an early riser, so she's got to be starving by now.

Castle starts shoveling his food down, poking Dashiell with his elbow to get the kid to stop playing with his. Dashiell interrupts trains to grab his sippy cup and stick it in his mouth, sucking down his milk. His round, red lips nurse the spout while his eyes track his father's every movement. Rick pauses to swallow a bite of toast, then leans over to bump foreheads with his son. Dashiell grins and drops his cup, grabs his daddy by the ears.

Kate licks margarine off her fingers and refills her own glass of milk, then sits on the third chair at the bar, on the other side of Dash. "Stop making googly eyes at each other. You need to go talk to your daughter."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, and draws back, prying Dash's fingers from his left ear. "Can you tell I'm not looking forward to it?"

"No!" she gasps, putting a hand over her heart and making Dash startle. "Really?"

"Shut up."

Dashiell laughs like he understand and claps his hands together.

Kate breaks off some of her toast and hands it to Dash, watching him stick it in his mouth and suck on it. "I made a date with Lanie for a viewing right after lunch. 1:30 or 2:00 probably."

"All right, I'm going." He gets up and drops his plate in the sink, thinks better of it, and rinses it off to load it into the dishwasher. Behind him, he hears Kate telling Dash to chew his food.

Time to face his daughter.

* * *

><p>Alexis fell asleep the moment Kate left her and woke up sometime around seven this morning. She heard Dashiell yelling from his room, something that sounded like, "Gub, Gub, Gubby!" and then Kate going into his room to calm him down.<p>

Alexis never went back to sleep after that. She has always been a morning person, and seven o'clock is her usual wake up time in the dorms, so she pulls her laptop off the floor and opens it.

She writes in her journal for an hour, trying to work through some of the things from the night before: her father's saying about wasting her potential, Kate's comments about her being afraid to tell her dad she's changed majors, the way it felt when she smoked that joint last night, and the reasons she never said no.

After that hour of catharsis, she has a better understanding of 'how we got here', as Kate put it last night, but she's struggling with what it means about the future, about tomorrow, about all-night study sessions in the common room where they smoke a little and chill out and have fun.

She sees the problem clearly: taking a stranger's word for it that what he's got rolled in that white paper is the same stuff she's used to, that it won't hurt her, that it's not cut with something else. She can trust the guys in the common room because she knows them; they're her friends. But a guy Nick sorta knows?

Not very smart.

And the party itself. . .well sure, she realizes that it was a little more dangerous than she's entirely comfortable with. But Kate spent the summer before she left for college teaching her a few self-defense moves, practicing with her over and over, and Alexis feels pretty confident about her ability to take care of herself.

And she doesn't do the hard stuff. It's not like she's a druggie. She's not all jittery and tweaking in the bathroom trying to sniff a line of cocaine. She would never be that girl on the first floor selling herself for a hit.

She'll just have to-

The knock on her door startles her; she glances at the clock. 11:38.

"Come in."

She assumes it's her dad, because Kate just walked in last night, and she's right. Her dad opens the door and gives her a hesitant look. "Hey, there."

"Dad. I'm really sorry-"

"Don't. I'm just glad you called," he says, holding a hand up as he sits on the end of her bed. "I'm very glad you called."

She knows how this talking-to goes; she's had this kind of thing before. She'll direct the conversation, give him a summary of the sin, and then she'll recommend a punishment. She's already got a few ideas that would appease his sense of proper parenting, and similarly, will make Alexis feel better for disappointing him, disappointing Kate.

"I shouldn't have taken that joint from Nick's friend," she says immediately, shaking her head. "That was stupid. That was a really bad idea, and I'm sorry. I know better than to take drugs from strangers. I just. . .I guess I just felt like I had to prove something to Paige and the kids from Marlowe. They're just. . .they're going to like New York Community or something, and they're always so snide about me going-"

"Alexis," he warns, interrupting her.

She glances up at him in surprise. Her mouth closes; she's lost her train of thought.

"This isn't about Paige and her friends, Alexis. You're not 15 anymore. What concerns me, what concerns Kate, is that you're twenty years old and you seem totally fine with smoking marijuana and going to dangerous parties."

"I. . ." She blinks. How did she lose control of this conversation so quickly?

"The thing is, Alexis, sweetheart, you're *only* twenty, and this is stuff that could haunt you for the rest of your life. You think you're an adult, that when you make decisions, you're making these adult decisions. With what experience? With what amount of real knowledge here? Do see how ridiculous that is? Somehow, from your, what? two years of adult living, you know all there is to know about smart decisions?"

"I. . .I'm not stupid."

"Last night seems to be against you here, Alexis. So, what? You think you know everything? Twenty years old and you're done now? Nothing more life can teach you; you've got every base covered; you know the lay of the land-"

"Dad-" She rolls her eyes, and her father, for the first time ever, grabs her by the shoulder and shakes her.

"Listen to me, Alexis." His eyes aren't full of amused concern like they usually are when they have these conversations. In fact, he looks angry. "You have no idea. When I was stupid and did all my stupid things, how old was I?"

"It wasn't that long ago," she says, shrugging his hand off her shoulder, grateful to be back on familiar ground with him. "Like, what, Dad? Five years ago?"

He shakes his head and takes her hand instead. "Sweetheart, my stupid days ended soon after you were born. Late twenties. Now, I'll admit that I've done things following Kate that might be considered crazy, a little bit irresponsible, but Alexis. . .I stopped being stupid. It took me *that* long because I had all this money and all kinds of people unwilling to tell me no when they wanted my money."

She takes in a measured breath and tries to figure out where this is going. "Dad. Believe me. I know you did stupid stuff."

"It's going to take a few years to get out all your stupid, Alexis. I want you to remember that. Twenty years old and you think you're brilliant enough to avoid all the consequences. Sometimes, stupid still lurks in us, ready to spring. It's only with a lot of years behind us that we begin to catch on, that we see stupid for what it is."

"Dad-"

"Are you listening to me? Or are you trying to figure out what to say?"

She closes her mouth, stares at him.

"Listen to me, then. I did you a disservice, all these years, by treating you like an adult. Because you're not an adult. You don't have the experiences of an adult. When I tell you, Alexis, that drugs waste your potential, I'm telling you what a lifetime of adult experience has taught me."

"You did drugs?"

"No. Not-I tried pot a couple times. But no drug use. You know what happens, Alexis, when you go down one path? All the other paths become that much harder to get over to. You close a door; you cut off access. And the path you're on? It just seems so much easier to keep going down it, than to even turn around. You've got friends on this path, this path seems easier. And then it's too late."

"Dad. I don't understand what you're saying." Alexis shifts so that she's sitting cross-legged across from her dad, staring at him.

"Because I'm not any good at this. Because, somehow, I've always let you give yourself these little talks. That's a problem. That's got to change with Dash. Hopefully, I haven't let it go on too long for you. Here's the deal, Alexis. What you did? Not just stupid; it was dangerous. It was very dangerous. I went back and picked up Kate and saw the arrests the Vice Squad made-"

"Kate called the cops?"

"What did you think she was doing?"

"Oh no. Oh no, Paige is gonna-"

"Alexis!" He barks her name and she jerks, making the bed shake. She's never heard him yell at her like that. "Listen to me, Alexis. Or so help me, next time, I'm leaving you there to get arrested, do you understand me now?"

"What?" she shrieks. She's not a child. She's not even a bad kid-

"This is what I'm talking about. This isn't about Paige; this is about you. It's not just that you went to a dangerous party. It's that you apparently have this habit of smoking pot. So that you knew enough to call Kate and say something's not right. And what would've happened to you if you hadn't felt weird? You would've stayed there?"

She can't breathe; her eyes fill up with those stupid tears again. She watches her father for a moment and then slowly nods her head. "Yes."

"That's the problem here, Alexis. You're twenty years old. There's alcohol poisoning, there's drug interactions, there's ODing, there's-"

"I got it," she says, a little breathless.

"There's all these terrible consequences that come from making one, tiny, little stupid mistake. A stupid mistake that you don't even seem to realize is stupid."

"Like all my friends getting arrested?"

"Like that. Like maybe next time you wake up and it's you on the first floor with two guys over you-"

She gulps and blushes. "Kate told you about that?"

Her father looks at her, a long, hard look that makes Alexis nervous. Then runs a hand down his face and closes his eyes.

She's not sure what she's supposed to do now. So she sits there, wishing the conversation was over and hoping that he'll forgive her. Has he forgiven her?

"Alexis, you're the only one I got," he says finally. "You can't be replaced. I just don't want you making decisions today that will ruin your tomorrow. Okay?"

She nods. "I understand."

"I don't think you do. That's what scares me."

She swallows and feels the tears swimming up; she chews on the inside of her lip to keep from crying.

"Since you're not technically living under my roof any longer. . .there's not a whole lot I can do to you. But later today, Kate's got a meeting. You're gonna go with her."

She wonders if it's a cop meeting. Will she have to go identify the two guys from the first floor? Or maybe they'll want her to rat out Nick's friend, the one who gave her the joint. She won't do it.

"Okay," she says slowly.

"Have you eaten?"

And just like that, it's over? All she had to do was listen to her dad stumble around for ten minutes and now she's good?

"Haven't eaten."

"Kate made brunch."

"She did?"

"Don't get your hopes up: it's scrambled eggs." Her dad leans in and grabs her up in a hug, squeezing tightly. "I want you to be happy, Alexis. I don't want you to live with regrets. But most of all, I want you to be a good person."

Does he not think she's a good person?

"So far," he continues, pulling back to look at her. "You seem to have two of those down pretty good. But the regrets? I'm afraid you're on a path now that will lead to a lot of them. Please think about this, sweetheart."

"I will, Dad," she promises easily. "I am."

He doesn't look convinced, but he gets up and opens her door. "Brunch is ready when you are."


	45. Chapter 45

Kate finds Castle in the study, poking at the keys as he chews on the end of a straw. She jiggles Dash in her arms to keep him distracted from the sparkly things on the shelves near the door.

She takes a moment to watch him work. His hair has dried funny, and she can't resist coming up behind him and brushing her hand through it.

He startles but smiles up at her, his eyes crinkling so appealingly in the corners.

"Hey, we're gonna go," she says, smiling back, scratching her nails at the back of his skull to feel the short bristles of hair there.

"Yeah, ok. Give me just a second and I'll take him-"

"Nope," she interrupts. "Dash is coming with me. You need to write."

Castle takes a long look at her, confusion mottling his eyes. "Kate. I know he's young. But to an autopsy?"

She laughs and hunches down to kiss his forehead. "Actually, Lanie got reassigned, they've got another ME coming in to start his shift early, and she wanted to see Dash. She's taking him to the break room while Alexis. . .you know."

"Are you. . .gonna be there with her?"

"I'm not sure." She bites her lip and watches him for a sign about this. "What do you think I should do?"

"Are you asking my advice on parenting?" he says, grinning up at her.

She pushes on the back of his head again. "Get serious."

"I think you should go with your gut, Detective. You know Alexis; you had it done to you. You know best."

"All right. Well, that's no help." Dashiell squirms and drops over the side of Kate's arm, tries to get down.

Castle saves his work and closes the laptop, then snags Dash out of her grasp, cuddles him for a moment. "Have a good morning, buddy?"

"Bud-deeeeee," he jabbers, then reaches for the laptop. "Dee, dee, dee."

Kate scoots the laptop away and sits on the side of the desk. "Dash got to use the paints in the bottom of the drawer this morning. He made you a picture."

"Pait, pait!" Dash says, his eyes wide. He twists in Castle's lap and reaches up to his father, claps his hands on his dad's cheeks. "Pait, Daddy." He looks very serious all of the sudden.

"Paint. What did you paint?"

Dash opens his mouth, raises a little eyebrow in great concentration, but can't seem to find the words. His brow creases and he looks over at Kate. "Mommy?"

"Dash painted. . .a big brown cloud? Uh. With a tree on it?" Kate bites her lip as Dashiell still frowns.

The boy turns back to his father. "No. No pait."

Castle laughs. "You didn't paint a big brown cloud and a tree?"

"No tee, Daddy." He tilts his head and then smiles wide. "Ball! Ball! Daddy, ball!"

"Oh," Kate laughs. "I guess it could've been a ball. A brown, oval and scribble ball."

"Ball, Daddy."

"All right, kiddo. We'll hang it on the fridge then, when you get home, okay? A picture of your ball."

Kate reaches down for the boy and takes him back, wondering if this is the time to bring it up again. Or if she should wait until their argument is well and truly behind them.

"I'm already looking into it," Castle says softly, snagging her wrist so she looks at him. "I'll get you a couple of different options, and we can decide which one. In the meantime, I bought tickets for Sunday's afternoon game, for the four of us."

Kate straightens up with Dash bouncy in her arms, tries to keep her heart out of her eyes. "Good. That's. . .thank you, Castle."

"Oh, ug, don't thank me. That's just. . ."

Kate leans in to more thoroughly thank Castle, but she's made off-balance by the wriggling boy, and falls into his lap, her knee high up on his thigh.

Castle yelps but catches her, an arm around Dash, laughing at them. "That was so graceful-"

"Shut up," she mutters, but gets her feet under her, steadies herself, and presses her mouth to his to make him stop laughing. His hand at her neck, tugging her down, brings her even closer, as Dashiell jabbers at them and tries to get down.

Kate lets the boy slide down her leg so she can bring both hands to Castle's shoulders; he cradles her face between his palms. In some distant part of her mind, she feels Dashiell butt his head into her knee, but then Castle's tongue traces her lips.

She opens to him and sinks to her knees in the space between his legs on the chair, pressing closer. His hand travels to her waist, slides up her shirt to span her ribs, brushing hot and insistent as she leans-

Something topples, a crash, and Dashiell shrieks.

They jerk apart; Kate's head swivels to the bookcase near the door. She jumps up to rescue her son from underneath the remote control helicopter he's managed to pull down on top of himself.

Rick is right behind her, takes the copter from her so she can check out their son. She feels Rick at her back in the next instant, even as she brushes the hair from Dash's brow.

He's got a scrape down his other cheek now, a matching stripe for the fading line left by the pool visit yesterday. The goose egg has reformed over his eye; he'll have a patchwork of bruises there now.

"Hey, wild man, you okay?"

"Uh-oh," he sing-songs, crawling into her lap for a hug.

"That's right, uh-oh," Castle says.

"Want a kiss?" she murmurs, brushing the top of Dash's head as she hugs him.

"Tiss, Momma," he says pitifully, playing it up.

She cradles his face in her hands and touches her lips lightly to his cheek, brushing his skin with her thumbs. Castle leans over her shoulder to palm the boy's head, looking at the cut.

"Hey kiddo. No more climbing the bookshelves. All right?"

"Climb!" Dash says proudly, his chest puffing out.

Kate gives Castle a look. "Climb?"

"Helicopter was on the top shelf."

Oh holy hell. Just what she needs. "He climbed to the top shelf?"

"Just about the top. He's a little monkey."

"Mon-kee! He-kee! Ball!"

"Tomorrow, my man. Baseball tomorrow. Now, time to go with Mommy."

Kate gathers Dashiell up as she stands, shaking her head at Castle. "He can climb bookshelves now. Great."

"He climbs the baby gate, his crib, the bathroom sink. What made you think he wouldn't be able to climb the shelves?" Castle grins at her, hands on his hips as she makes her way to the door.

"If you knew he could climb shelves, then why'd you distract me?" She tosses him a glare over her shoulder as she struggles to remove Dash from the room.

"Uh-huh, distract you. Keep telling yourself that, Detective Beckett."

She feels her face flush (she *so* should not have told him that) and wrestles Dash's hands off the doorjamb and out of the room.

"Time for Alexis's punishment," she says to Dash, frowning at him. Then she heads to the bottom of the stairs and yells up for Alexis. "Time to go!"

Dash claps both hands together and wriggles with happiness. "Ball-ball!"

Kate sighs. "Not baseball today, baby. Tomorrow."

Dash pouts, his face crumpling into what looks like a heck of a tantrum.

It's going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>In the end, Alexis's blanched face and shaking head confirm Kate's decision. Especially when Perlmutter emerges from the autopsy suite before them with his gloves already on and hands a gown to Alexis, and the girl refuses to take it.<p>

Alexis turns to Kate and grabs her by the arm. "Kate, please. You can't do this. It's like, child abuse or something!"

"You're an adult, Alexis," she says, shrugging her shoulders , her lips pressed in a line. She unwraps the girl's fingers from her arm. "Adult consequences."

She nods to Perlmutter, and the ME, whose shift started an hour ago and doesn't have time for drama (ever), shoves the sterile gown at Alexis and opens the door. "Hurry up, Ms. Castle. Tight schedule."

Alexis turns her blue doe-eyes to Kate, but Kate shakes her head and points at the door. The girl's shoulders slump and she shrugs on the gown, muttering under her breath. Kate knots the ties at the top and gives her a gentle push to the door.

"Lanie and I will be in her office with Dash, soon as you're done."

Perlmutter is already hustling Alexis away.

Kate planned on going in there with Alexis, but at the last moment, her mother's stringent _I told you so_ seemed to echo in Kate's head. _You won't like the consequences, Katie. Best you see them now. Up close._

Kate heads down the hall towards Lanie's office, where her friend is attempting to entertain Dashiell with a plastic model of a heart. Dash has already opened up the four chambers and is chewing on the superior vena cava. Lanie doesn't seem to mind, so Kate slumps into the seat in front of her friend's desk and rubs her forehead.

"So the girl was at a party?"

"I had to call it in."

"Ooh, that's serious," Lanie says, pursing her lips. "You can't let that go. You're doing the right thing."

"Yeah, well, I feel like crap for doing it." Kate winces and rubs at her forehead, leaning forward to tug the heart model out of Dashiell's grip before he can chew off one of the blue pulmonary arteries.

Dashiell shrieks at her, but Kate is already tugging a train out of the front pocket of her shoulder bag and handing it to him.

"Trains!" Dashiell cries and gives her leg an impulsive hug while Lanie giggles.

"Girl, he is a cutie. Look at those curls. . ." Lanie comes around the desk and sits in the other chair beside Kate, reaching out a hand to brush through Dashiell's hair. "He looks like you."

"He acts like Castle."

"Yeah, I can see that," Lanie agrees, tilting her head to study the boy. "And you. Stubborn. And he don't talk much, huh?"

Kate keeps her eyes on Dash as the boy pushes his train on the carpet. "Depends on who he's with. With Castle, he chatters non-stop. With me, though, little man knows to keep a lid on it."

"So he's smart," Lanie grins, glancing up at her friend. "Speaking of, how'd you get the idea to make the girl suffer through an autopsy?"

"Perlmutter's gonna weight the heart, right? Talk about the differences in size, the liver, the things drugs does to the body-"

"Yeah, yeah, I told him. Don't worry. You know Perlmutter. That man is seriously intense. He will scare the shit outta your girl."

"Good. And I got the idea from my mom, actually."

Lanie just looks at her, then lifts her eyes to the ceiling as if asking if Kate was given divine intervention.

Kate shakes her head. "My mom did it to me. Back in the day."

"Ooh, no wonder!" Lanie sits back in the chair and reaches an idle hand down to Dash when the boy starts running a train over the top of her shoe. Kate watches her friend caress Dashiell's curls, the natural and instinctive way she takes to the little boy. "That explains so much about you, Kate."

"Ha, ha. Funny."

"Ha, ha!" Dash mimics, bouncing up to his feet and running to Kate. "Ha, Momma! Ha, ha!"

"Yes, yes, funny, isn't she? So very funny," Kate says, leaning over to take the train he offers her. "I got caught sneaking out to a party. My boyfriend at the time-"

"Why is it that your bad girl stories always involve boyfriends?" Lanie asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. Which she then uncrosses as Dash runs to her and puts the train in her hands instead.

"Hush. My boyfriend at the time. . .well, I met him through my mom. She'd represented his older brother on drug charges."

"Are you kidding me?" She releases the train back to Dashiell, who ping pongs back to Kate with his train.

"We weren't really. . .I mean, this was when I was 16 and stupid, and he was really into me, but I was just trying to get a rise out of my mom. You know."

"No, I do not, girlfriend." Lanie cocks her head and points at her friend. "You, Kate Beckett, have way too many stories that start off with 'when I was young and stupid.'"

"I know, I really do," Kate says, frowning and laughing at the same time. "Honestly, sometimes I think that if my mom hadn't died, I'd still be young and stupid."

Lanie's face drops the teasing disapproval. She leans forward to snag Kate's hand, squeezes it even with Dashiell's train caught between their palms. "Hey. You had a good mom. She taught you right. You don't have to wonder about whether or not you'd have figured it out if she lived-"

"Because she died," Kate finishes, shrugging off her friend's concern. She's always known her mother's death put her on a path towards criminal justice and the police force. She's always recognized the impact on her life. It's just that lately, she sees how much it has shaped her identity. Has shaped her whole personality, the way she deals with life. One death, and it changes everything.

"No, not because she died. Because you're a good person, Kate. Being young and stupid doesn't last. You know that. Look at Castle. Doesn't even last for Writer Boy."

Kate huffs a laugh and presses her palm to her cheek. "Yeah. Not even Castle." Dashiell demands his train back and Lanie lets go of her friend's hand.

"But you still wonder. I know. I understand, Kate. You have a good life; you have a man who loves you; you have a family. And if it's good, but your mom is gone, then you wonder if you've somehow agreed to a trade."

Kate laughs again, but with more desperation than humor. Lanie has a way to getting right to it. "Better than therapy, Lanie."

"I ain't got a couch, but I do know you. You like to sabotage yourself, sweetheart. I've seen you do it over and over. Don't know how Castle managed to-"

Lanie cuts off and Kate lifts her head to look at her friend, wondering at the ME's sudden silence.

"What?"

Lanie glances to Dash. "Well, that's one way to keep you from running out."

Her heart clenches like it's being squeezed by a fist, and Kate sits up, reaching a hand out to her son who squats under the chair playing with his train. "It doesn't keep me." But it does, doesn't it? It keeps her.

"Sure it does. It's okay to admit it. You think my momma and daddy would've gotten married so soon if it hadn't been for Ray?"

"You're kidding," Kate gasps, laughing again. "Ray is. . .was before?"

"Of course. We call him the mistake. Momma thwacks us for it. But Dad says it was the best thing that happened to him. Forced him to fish or cut bait."

Kate laughs because she doesn't know what else to do, puts a hand to her face and shakes her head. "Oh my word. Your family." Fish or cut bait. Kate knows that she would probably never have married Castle if she hadn't gotten pregnant. She knows that. She also recognizes that yes, maybe she does think that somehow, she made a deal with God or fate to let her have her mom's murderer and she'd give up everything else.

If she's happy, and her mom is still dead, then what does that make her?

"Yeah, my family's hilarious. But it's no good hiding the truth from yourself, Kate. So you got pregnant and now you've got this great life you don't think you deserve. You gotta figure out a way to accept it, sweetheart, before you do something really stupid."

Like refuse to have anything to do with Castle's public life? Like make him think, daily, that she'd rather be at the station than at home? Like tell him, not in so many words, that every time she spends his money, she feels like he's buying her?

"I might have already done something stupid," she admits, chewing on her lip and dropping her hands to her lap. "I might have been doing something stupid all along."

Lanie sighs and glances to the clock on the wall. "Well, good thing for you, Perlmutter's a stickler for the details. It'll take him another hour before that body is done."


	46. Chapter 46

When Alexis comes out of the autopsy suite, her skin is waxy and her eyes won't focus on Kate. Perlmutter gives the detective a dark look, then disappears back inside.

Kate has left Dash with Lanie, just for now, because she wants to be available to talk, if Alexis is up to it. Kate tries to soften her look and reaches out to take the girl's hand, squeezing it. "How many times did you throw up?"

"Just. . .once," Alexis says faintly, color rapidly flushing back into her face. Her hand is clammy under Kate's.

"Better than me. I threw up three times when my mom shoved me in there."

Alexis is silent, her eyes a little vacant.

"If you have any questions. . ."

Alexis gives her a blank look, but doesn't say anything. Kate understands the need to say nothing after witnessing an autopsy, the sense that so many things aren't worthwhile anymore if you just end up like that. She knows, so she leaves the girl alone, dropping it.

Lanie is heading towards them, nudging Dashiell with a hand at the back of his head. Her friend straightens up and raises her eyebrows in question; Kate shrugs back, indicating she has no idea. She won't push the girl to open up about it right now, though she thinks they should have a conversation at some point.

Lanie bends down to whisper into Dashiell's ear, and the boy starts running the last few feet towards them.

"Hey there, wild man," Kate says, crouching to be level with her son. Dashiell bypasses her and throws himself down the hallway, running on fast little legs like he's escaping.

Kate sighs but Lanie is already giving chase; she traps him before he can get to the next autopsy suite, picking him up and swinging him around, pretending to drop him so that he squeals in delight.

"You better be good for your mama, my little dinosaur." Lanie teases Dashiell as she carries him back. "Else your Aunt Lanie's gonna eat you."

"No, no, no!" Dashiell shrieks, but he's giggling and clutching Lanie's arm as he squirms.

Kate grins and receives him back. "Gotcha." Dashiell clasps both arms around Kate's neck and wraps his legs around her. "Lanie been tickling you?"

"A-nee," he squeals.

Kate laughs, but notices that Alexis isn't laughing herself, just staring into the middle distance. "Hey, Alexis? Alexis."

The girl snaps back, shifting focus. "Yeah."

"Lanie and Esposito are meeting at your dad's bar for a late lunch. Want to head down there? Or do you just want to go back home?"

Alexis casts a hesitant glance to Lanie, who gives her a bright smile and hooks an arm through hers.

"Come on, honey. You need some people after that. Live people."

Alexis gives Kate a pleading look, but Kate thinks Lanie is right about that. She should stick around people for awhile, people who love her. "I'll call your dad to meet us. Okay?"

If she were better at this, more natural, Kate thinks she'd know exactly what she should do to put Alexis at ease. Maybe a good hug would do it. But Kate's mother wasn't the touchy-feely sort, so Kate never grew up with all those little mothering touches. They aren't things she misses; she's just having to learn them as she goes.

Castle touches. He uses touch to say all the things that can't or won't be said with words. She doesn't know how he does that; she wishes she could do that for Alexis. The girl looks like she could use a mother right now. A good one.

"Okay," Alexis gives in, using a still-shaking hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "But I don't know that I could eat anything."

"Yeah, I understand. No food." Kate promises her and tries to put some warmth into her smile at the girl. She digs through the messenger bag for her phone, letting Lanie take Dashiell back as they turn to go.

Lanie leads them along the maze of corridors, then up to the lobby floor, past security and finally out the doors. Kate pulls out her sunglasses with her phone to her ear, ringing Castle for the second time.

Dashiell rubs his face into Lanie's scrubs and babbles, his voice insistent and demanding, even if he's not speaking real words. Alexis reaches out, taking the bag from Kate's shoulder, and then digs around inside.

Kate ends the call when she gets Rick's voicemail for a second time, tries again as she watches Alexis. After a moment, the young woman emerges with Dashiell's sunglasses and quickens her pace to catch up to Lanie.

"Here, bubba. Try these." Alexis slides the sunglasses over his face, and Dashiell does his customary two-handed squash, pressing his palms against the lenses to mash them against his eyes. "Better?"

"Is-sis," he says, then jabbers away a little bit more while Lanie laughs and wrestles him into a better position on her hip.

"Thanks for remembering that," Kate says, snagging the girl's sleeve to smile at her. Alexis is still having trouble meeting her eyes.

Castle finally picks up. "Yo."

"Jeez, hard to get ahold of."

"Yeah, left my phone in the bedroom, sorry. What's up?"

"Me and the kids and Lanie are headed to your place to meet up with Javi. You want in?"

"My pl-oh, the bar. Esposito's gonna really show this time?"

"I assume so. He may be the lead detective, but he makes a point to stop for meals. You know Espo."

Castle chuckles in her ear. "He's definitely better at meals than you. I'm there. When?"

"Now."

"Got it. How's Alexis?"

Kate flicks her eyes to the girl to make sure she's not listening, but Alexis is scrunching her nose at Dash and pretending to be offended by his diaper smell. Grrrrreat. Diaper. She has *got* to start remembering to change him before they leave perfectly clean places. . .like the morgue. Or at least places that have a nice bathroom.

"Troubled by it, I think. It got her."

"Good," Castle sighs. "Very good. I'm so glad you did that, Kate."

"Yeah, me too. Just. . .need to watch out for awhile, you know?"

"You mean like emotionally? She's depressed?"

Kate huffs and gives Alexis a smile as the girl turns to look back at her. "No, Castle, not like that. This isn't suicide watch. I mean. . .in general. Pay attention to what's going on. Right?"

"Is she listening?"

"You got it."

"Then I get to talk and you have to listen."

"In your dreams. See you in a few."

"Hey now, maybe I really did have something to say!"

"I doubt it," she deadpans, waiting for his indignation to kick up a notch.

"Naw, you're right. I got nothing," he sighs.

Kate laughs at his unexpected surrender and hooks her arm through Alexis's as the girl continues to cast her backward glances. "See you soon, stud."

"Oh man, Kate, I swear-"

She ends the call just because she can, and squeezes Alexis's arm against her side. "Dad's gonna meet us there. You guys can talk about it, if it helps?"

Alexis shakes her head, looking down at the sidewalk. "I don't want to talk about this right now. Did you. . ." She throws Lanie a swift look, but the woman is giving Dashiell some kind of pep talk or running commentary and isn't paying attention to them.

"Did I what?" Kate prompts.

"You probably told Lanie. About what I did."

"I told her some. She's my friend. She's a family friend, Alexis."

The girl nods thoughtfully. "Did she tell Tio?"

Kate grins briefly at the name but smothers it to keep Alexis from seeing. Tio is the word for uncle in Spanish; Esposito named himself when Dash was born, and now even Alexis has picked it up. "A little. Bare essentials. But you think Esposito doesn't have his own wild party stories? He's got plenty. With lots of awful endings as well. Everyone understands what it's like to do something stupid. It's not the end of the world. . .you'll make it through."

Alexis still looks hesitant, but she lifts her head a little, adjusting her sunglasses. "I guess so."

Kate sighs and bumps Alexis's side as they walk, trying to reassure her. But she remembers the way this feels, the sick horror at how a life can be used up so quickly, nothing but meat on a table. And somewhere in the back of Alexis's mind is the realization that the girl on the table could be her. So Kate doesn't say anything else, just lets her arm through Alexis's speak instead.

She hopes.


	47. Chapter 47

The best part about being away from Kate is seeing her again.

Castle pulls open the door to the Old Haunt and slides around the bar to the back and the gang's usual spot. Before he even manages to find the group amidst the crowd, he hears a commotion and then feels a solid little body run smack into his legs. Dashiell.

With Kate right behind him.

Castle lifts Dash into his arms while taking in the sight of her, long-limbed and dark and a little breathless from chasing their son. She sees him and relief makes her shoulders slump.

He reaches out for her, slides his hand down the back of her arm until he can lace his fingers through hers. He tugs her closer, smiling, one arm keeping Dashiell still against his chest.

The boy is jabbering about peanuts or ewoks (it's the same word for both), and Kate looks at Castle with something like confused wonder.

That's a new one. He doesn't think he's ever seen quite that look on her face. At least not when it comes to himself.

"What?" he asks, leaning down to brush a kiss against her hand.

Kate redirects their clasped hands so that she can brush her thumb over his bottom lip, shaking her head at him. "I just. . .how do you know exactly what to do?"

He grins. "I wasn't aware that I did. Good to know."

Kate gives him a rueful look and shakes her head. "No, I mean. How do you always know just how to touch me? When to touch me? When *not* to?"

His heart skips a beat; this feels like a serious conversation, and Castle has spent the last hour playing with his remote-controlled helicopter (he needed to make sure that Dashiell hadn't broken it), so he's not sure he can switch gears so quickly.

"I. . .uh. Gut instinct?" He shrugs at her and releases her hand so he can switch Dash to a different arm. "Why?"

"You just. . .always know what I need. What Alexis needs. And Dash. I've never been good at that; I was just. . .hoping you had a cheat sheet." She doesn't look sad though, and he's glad for that, because it kinda makes him feel proud that she needs him for something.

She needs him for something. Ahhh. . .yes. So is Kate being really clever and subtly assuaging one of his insecurities?

Not that Kate isn't clever, but he doesn't think that's where this is coming from.

"No cheat sheet," he smiles, and realizes that she's gone back to speculative. "Hey, Kate. Why do you ask?"

The bar is crowded for the late lunch rush and a waiter bumps into him with a too-fast apology, then does a double take when he realizes who it is.

"Sorry sir! Sorry, I-"

"No problem. Here with my family. You're fine," Castle says, waving the man off. He takes Kate's elbow and propels her forward a little until she starts walking back to their table.

He'll have to ask her later, when they've got more time.

Alexis's face lights up when she spots him; she almost gets up, but thinks better about it, being crammed into the very back with Lanie on one side of her and Kate's messenger bag on the other. Castle catches her look and slides into the corner booth next to her before Kate can reclaim her spot.

He has to suck in his gut to get him and Dashiell both behind the table. Maybe that run will be a good thing.

"Are we still running this afternoon?" he asks, splitting his attention from Alexis back to Kate.

She curls her lip into a suggestive smile and lets him put Dashiell between them in the round bench seat. "Yeah. I thought you might be chickening out on me."

"Never. I said I'd do it. I'm gonna have to do it."

"What are you doing?" Esposito says from across him. The detective has already ordered a huge basket of fries for an appetizer and is dipping them in honey mustard, double-dipping them again in ketchup.

Castle reaches to his left and takes Alexis's hand, letting her know he's there, and answers Javier's question. "A 5K. I got suckered into it."

Esposito barks a laugh and raises an eyebrow at Kate. "That's your doing?"

"All mine. Well, it's his really. A fundraiser for MS that Castle apparently donates to, but never really does anything else after that."

"It's a race?" Lanie asks, swiping a fry.

Castle steals one as well, passes it to Dash, then steals another for himself. Dashiell stops trying to wriggle out onto the floor and looks at his prize, giving Kate the chance to take a handful of fries herself.

Esposito gives them all dirty looks and pulls the basket closer to himself, slapping Lanie's hand as she gets too close.

"It's a race," Castle says, laughing a little, grateful to have people around him again. "5K and Half-Marathon. Kate and I are gonna run it. Well, Kate *says* I'm going to run it, but I have my doubts. I might end up walking it."

The table laughs and a waitress comes by with drinks and another basket of fries. Castle intercepts these and lets Alexis get a handful, then Lanie, then Kate, before he drops the half-empty basket in front of Espo again.

"Dude, not cool."

"And what can I get for you, Mr Castle?" the waitress says, cocking a hip to pull out her pen and tab.

"Whatever dark beer is on tap today. And this is all on me, okay?" He circles his finger around the booth and Esposito raises his hand for a high-five. "Also, another basket of fries when you come back. Thanks."

"No problem. Let me get this one out of the way." She leans over and takes the empty basket from Esposito's place, starts to leave.

"Wait a sec. Sorry, I forgot your name?" Castle says, wrapping an arm around Dashiell as the kid tries again to escape to the floor.

"Oh, I'm Pilar. Only been here a few weeks."

"Thanks, Pilar."

The girl heads away and Castle turns back to Alexis. The girl is pulling apart her fries one by one, not eating them, her head down to the table.

Castle glances over to Kate, jerks his chin towards Alexis. Kate shrugs and bites her bottom lip, suggesting that Alexis hasn't really talked to her. He looks back over at his daughter and then up to Lanie, who is watching them with raised eyebrows.

He makes up his mind. "Hey, Alexis, I've got something in my office down there I wanna give you. Come with me, 'kay?" He shoves on Dashiell beside him and the kid slides down the bench. Kate grabs him and stands, letting Castle and Alexis pass out of the booth.

He waits so that Alexis is ahead of him, then leans in to Kate and kisses Dashiell's cheek.

"I'll let you know what she says," he murmurs, then follows his daughter towards the office stairs.

* * *

><p>Alexis waits until they are in her father's office and the door is closed (although he has gleefully pushed open the secret passage) before she even begins to think about telling him everything.<p>

Her father sits down behind the desk he shares with the bar manager, tugs open the bottom drawer with a grunt as it squeals. She watches him absent-mindedly, knowing that his reason for coming down here is mostly an excuse to get her to a quiet place where they can talk.

She has things she needs to say. So she's not really paying attention.

"Hey, here it is," he says triumphantly, and pulls up something from the drawer.

He presents it to her with a flourish and she takes it without really looking, trying to grow enough of a backbone to speak.

"Well, look at it," he says, coming back around the desk to sit on the edge of it.

She glances down at the flimsy thing in her hand and realizes it's a photograph. Of them. Together.

When she was really tiny.

"Where'd-why is this here?" she blurts out, giving him a quick look but unable to keep her eyes off the picture for long.

It's her father sitting at a retro kitchen table, the smooth formica top glinting with the flash. His knees are pressed together to hold the baby in his lap, Alexis, who is grinning with an open-mouthed smile, her smile so wide and bright and happy that her eyes are practically closed.

She's wearing a red Christmas-looking dress, and white tights, and she has two pigtails in her hair which are pulled up with red ribbon. Black patent leather shoes which hit her father's knees.

She looks to be Dashiell's age. Her father has a full beard and his hair nearly touches his collar. His face is so smooth and unlined, but his smile is still that easy-going grin that he has on right now.

"Why is this here? In your desk?" she says softly.

"I found it in one of my old journals. I brought some boxes of books and old research to put back here, in the passageway you know? I thought it would be pretty cool to store stuff back there. After Kate moved in."

"Yeah." She holds the photograph delicately, notices details she hadn't before. The kitchen chair is mint green pleather with chrome legs. The kitchen table has a wilted looking plant in a coffee mug on top. Her father is wearing a sport coat and a skinny brown tie. He looks like a professor.

"So I had a couple of boxes of stuff I brought over here, trying to make space in the bookcases in my study for Kate's stuff, and I got distracted-"

"You?" she says, raising an eyebrow. Which he ignores, and she's back to studying the photo anyway.

"I started looking through everything and realized that some of my research binders were the notebooks I kept when you were little. That was in one of them. In this journal, actually."

She looks up and he's holding out a notebook about the size of her hand, a dark green fabric cover that looks cracked and oft-folded. Alexis takes it from him and begins flipping through it.

"I don't know if you know this, but I keep little notebooks with me all the time so I can write stuff down. Cool things people say, ideas for short stories, details about a crime that I might need later, lines from a good book, even quotes from television shows. Just. Anything that strikes me. Inspiration."

He's got a thin string of a bookmark, so she opens to that section. She sees a page marked by four horizontal lines, breaking it up into five sections. He's written _trying to inflate an ability with sheer force of will_ followed by _essential important helpful trivial_ and then _I have lost the freedom to be truly ordinary_. The fourth space has her name written over and over, and then the last space, at the bottom of the page, is a quote that he has apparently altered and restructured to fit himself.

_'In the world of great literature, I am only a man of minor consequence, but to Alexis, I am a legend. Work at the legend.'_

She swipes at the tear that has fallen onto the page and then again at her cheeks to stop them.

"I wanted you to have that one, pumpkin. I was about 26, 27 for some of it, you were about Dash's age. It was 1996. Some of the initial ideas for Derek Storm came out of that notebook."

And, also, apparently some of his ideas about her. About how to be a good father.

She tucks the photo of the two of them into that marked page of the notebook and then wraps her arms around her father, holding him tightly, smelling the oil on his skin and the day-old cologne he rarely wears and the fresh laundry scent of his tshirt.

"Thank you," she whispers, his arms squeezing her tighter in response.

She pecks his cheek and steps back, holding the notebook to her chest.

"Dad, I've switched my major."

His face is almost comical in its confusion. "Okay." He gives her a shrug and a little grin. "To what?"

"Social work."

"Have you had any of those classes yet?"

He's taking this much better than she'd thought. Better even than Kate, and Alexis assumed that Kate was the easy one.

"Just a couple. Intro Sociology. Child Development."

"Cool. Is this something you'll need grad school for, or do you get a job right out of college?"

"You could do either. But you pretty much need grad school nowadays."

He nods, but his eyes are serious. "I'd recommend grad school. I think jobs are harder to get, salaries are too low, when you have the option of doing grad school but you don't. Hey, uh, you wanna talk about the thing with Kate and Lanie?"

Alexis crosses her arms around the notebook at her chest. "I kinda already am."

Now the confusion is a little more prominent. He turns his head as if he's heard his name being called, looking at her sideways. "You are."

"Yeah. I just. . .I wasn't sure how to tell you about wanting to be a social worker. I thought you'd be disappointed in me, and I felt really. . .ambivalent about it until today."

"Ambivalent about switching your major?"

"Well, kinda. I mean, I'm just so not going to be a doctor, Dad. Or a researcher. Or a famous scientist. All my introductory classes were easy enough, but they were just not interesting. I don't care about the half-life of barium or the mitosis of a cell. I do care about people. About why people do what they do. About helping make it better."

His face has gone from careful and confused to openly enthusiastic. "You'd be a great social worker, sweetheart."

"Thanks. Dad. It's just. . .I switched because I didn't want to be pre-med anymore, and it just looked interesting."

"Hey, it's college. You switch majors all the time. If you don't like social work, you can switch it to Psychology or Speech Pathology or Sports Medicine. Whatever."

She shakes her head, feeling bold with her father's notebook against her chest. "No. I want to do social work. I want to work with runaways. Today. . .today sealed it for me. I saw this girl on the table, Dad. Dr. Perlmutter slit her open with a scalpel, and it was a thick scalpel, and he had to work at it. He had to be so strong to get through. . ."

She fades off, biting her lower lip as she relives that moment when the skin and muscles and tissues had to be cut through. She feels her father's notebook press into the skin of her palm and loosens her hold.

"And then he cracked open her chest. I heard her ribs break. Her breastbone I guess it was. I didn't want to stand too close. He kept telling me about drug addiction and how this girl OD'd and how they found her half-naked. And I know Kate did it to make me realize. . .And I do realize, I do, really. . .but all I could think about was this girl."

"Just like you."

"Yeah. But she didn't have a chance. Dr. Perlmutter says most Jane Does who look rough like she did are runaways, homeless. She didn't even have a chance. No family to take care of her, to want her-"

"Sometimes these kids' families *do* want them."

"Yeah, but she didn't feel it, did she? Because she ran away from them. She ended up without even a name, lying on a table, with some rich stupid snob like me watching her insides get shoveled out."

She sees her father shiver from the corner of her eye.

"And who is there to help them?" she says softly, looking at her father now. "Who gives these daughters the chance? No one there to make them see how stupid they're being, no father to come pick them up from dangerous parties, no. . .no mom. . .to tell everything to, and to make these daughters attend autopsies to scare some sense into them."

She flashes her dad a wilted smile and feels his arms come up around her again, tugging her in close. The notebook presses between them.

"So I want to be someone who will do that for them," she says, mumbling into his shirt.

Her father releases her but keeps his hands on his shoulders so he can look at her face. His eyes are wet too.

"You have. . .the most generous heart, Alexis. You are a beautiful woman, and I am so grateful you're mine."

And her whole spirit breaks open because even though she knows she's always been special to him, she's not sure she's really heard it like that before. Or at least, not recently. Not enough.

"I love you, Daddy," she says, and laughs because there are tears pouring down her face and she's not even that sad anymore.


	48. Chapter 48

**Thank you so much for your amazing reviews! I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm headed on vacation and won't have internet for about three travel days. I'll post another chapter as soon as I get an internet connection.**

* * *

><p>Somehow, when Castle and Alexis come back from his basement office, the girl looks a hundred times better. Kate stands up to let them back in the booth. Dashiell is hanging out in Esposito's lap, going to town on the french fries and laughing with his mouth full as Esposito blows bubbles in his soda.<p>

"We've already ordered," Lanie says. "But the girl said she'd be back soon."

"Espo's only got thirty more minutes," Kate says by way of apology.

Castle shrugs and his hand brushes hers as they both sit back down. Kate leans forward and catches a smile on Alexis's face, hesitant and soft, but there nonetheless.

"What did you say to her?" Kate asks, turning to Castle and trying to figure him out.

He shrugs again, giving her an enigmatic grin. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She nudges his shoulder, narrowing her eyes. "Don't be a punk."

"Me? A punk? That's a new one," he laughs, reaching past her to steal a tomato from her chef salad. "I like stud better."

"Says the punk stealing my tomato," she retorts, slapping at his hand as he comes back for another one.

"You're the cop, but I don't think you can really classify tomato-stealing as punkish behavior. I mean-"

Kate leans forward and steals a kiss from him instead, tasting tomato and his laugh, licking the oil from the salad dressing off his bottom lip. He blinks, dumbly at first, and then gives her a long, hot look with a sizzling smile. She shifts in the booth uncomfortably.

Castle, still smiling, grabs a package of crackers while she's still wiping her mouth and crossing her legs, and he breaks them open despite her narrowed eyes at his pilfering. She watches him glance over at Alexis, and Kate looks as well, but the girl is leaning across the table and scooping half-chewed french fry out of Dashiell's mouth as he gags. Kate sighs, wonders if she should-

Nope. Taken care of. Alexis wipes her finger on a napkin, laughing at Lanie and the face Esposito is making, unaware of her father and Kate's study of her.

Fishing out a cracker, Castle says softly, "She told me she'd switched her major to social work. And then I asked if she wanted to talk about the autopsy and she said she was already talking about it. Which I do not get whatsoever. Is that like girl talk or something? You said you knew cry talk, is this the same thing?"

Kate shifts her eyes back to him. "Cry talk. Oh right. Girl talk? Girl talk for what?"

"I don't know. You're the girl! That's why I'm asking you. What does that mean? How is talking about her major have anything to do with. . .oh. Maybe like, she's thinking about her future now and she wasn't before?"

Kate glances to Dashiell, but her son has given up on the french fries and is now holding his arms out for Lanie. She looks back to Castle, sees his confusion. "No. No, I think she was worried that you had your heart set on her being a doctor. An evil scientist, she called it."

"That was a joke. She knows that was a joke, right? I like to beat a dead horse with the jokes. She knows that. Doesn't she know that?"

"Well, if you were calm and normal and not crazy down there in your office, Castle, then I guess she knows that now." Kate rolls her eyes at him and takes that as an opportunity to pass over Dashiell's sippy cup to Lanie.

Her friend nods at Javier; Esposito takes it from Kate, then passes it on down. "Don't let him eat any more fries, Lanie."

Lanie captures a little fist and removes squished french fries from Dashiell's hand. "Fine, but if he starts screaming for fries, Kate Beckett, you are getting the little monster back."

Castle laughs and puts a hand up to screen his mouth, stage-whispering down the table to Lanie. "If he starts screaming for fries, just give them to him."

Kate smacks his chest and glares at Lanie in warning.

"No I know. I'll try to make him eat the burger when it gets here. We got secret ways of making 'em eat in my family," Lanie says. "Just wait."

"That will be a secret worth killing for, just so you know," Castle says. "And good luck with that, because I have tried every trick in the book. And Alexis was a picky eater, so I have a lot of tricks."

Kate passes over a container of strawberries and blueberries. "Try these for now, Lanie. Since you're going to feed him. Using those secret ways."

"I think *I* know a way," Alexis says, intercepting the fruit. "This is what I do when I'm trying to make him eat breakfast."

She pries open the tupperware and pops a blueberry in her mouth. Immediately, Dashiell squawks and lunges for his sister's mouth. He nearly manages to stick his fingers between her teeth before Lanie gets a handle on him.

Alexis grins widely and winks at Kate, then turns an innocent face back to Dashiell, chewing slowly on the blueberry and obviously relishing it. "Mmm. . .But Mom said you didn't want your blueberries, Dashy, so I was going to eat them."

"No, no, no! Mine." Dashiell grunts and lunges again, but Lanie has a better grip on him and she thumps his ear.

Startled, Dashiell gapes at her with a round mouth, instantly still in her arms. Lanie smiles up at Kate with a pleased, self-satisfied smirk and takes the container of fruit from Alexis.

"If you sit still beside me, Dash, you can have some fruit. Otherwise, your sister gets them."

Dashiell immediately crawls off Lanie's lap and sits against the booth, then holds his hands out for more, opening and closing his fingers in the _gimme gimme_ reach.

"Good boy." Lanie hands him a piece of strawberry, and Dashiell takes it, but looks over at Alexis first, as if he expects trouble from her.

Alexis leans in slowly, opening her mouth as if she's going to eat it right out of Dashiell's hand, and the boy giggles and turns away, hiding his strawberry. Kate can tell that this is obviously an often played game between them.

"Mm, I loooove strawberries," Alexis says, leaning a little closer.

Dashiell takes the cut-up strawberry and pops it in his mouth, grinning at Alexis triumphantly.

"Oh, fooey," Alexis says, making a grumpy face.

Lanie gives Alexis a quiet high-five over Dashiell's head, then Esposito, also clearly impressed, holds his fingers out to feed the birds.

Alexis looks back at him in confusion.

Kate slaps a hand over her mouth to keep back the laughter, turns to see Castle grinning at her. Castle then completes the move so that Esposito won't be left hanging, and Alexis grins widely.

"Ohhh, ok. I get it. Let me do it." She reaches across the table with her fingers out stiff like a beak, and both Castle and Espo take a look at her hand and laugh. "Wait, what did I do wrong?"

Espo shakes his head. "Oh no, Little Castle. That is so white girl."

Kate rolls her eyes and leans past Castle. "Ignore them, Alexis. They think they're cool, but they are oh, so not."

"We are too cool," Castle whines.

Esposito hisses. "Bro. Not cool. You can't *say* you're cool. That ruins it."

"There's a cool code?" he asks, still indignant.

"And if you have to ask *that*," Kate says. "You're obviously not cool."

"But I *am* the cool dad," he says.

Alexis snorts. "After last night and that *autopsy* this morning, no. Those privileges have been revoked."

Everyone at the table goes silent, including Dashiell, who was laughing right along like he knew exactly what people were saying. When the noise and laughter stops, Dashiell sits perfectly still beside Alexis, waiting, a piece of strawberry still in his little fist.

Kate meets Lanie's eyes across the table and bites her lip. Castle turns his head to Alexis with a strange look that Kate can't read at all. Esposito sits back in the booth and shoots Kate what might be a nervous glance.

Castle clears his throat. "If that's what it takes. That's what it takes."

Kate leans back in the booth to check, and Alexis is blushing furiously, but her chin is up. "That's what it takes," Alexis says, and it's not defiance in her eyes. Kate studies her for a moment before she recognizes it.

It's pride. Not in herself, no. Alexis isn't proud of what she did. She's proud of her father.

Which is. . .strange. But kind of monumental in their relationship. And kinda cute, if Kate's being hoenst with herself. In that way Alexis and Castle have. That way that she hopes, fervently, Dashiell will have with his father as well.

Kate slides her hand over and squeezes Castle's thigh, drawing his eyes back to her. Fortunately the waitress has chosen that moment to check on the table, and Kate jerks her head towards the interruption. Castle glances up.

The silence is broken by Castle's familiar flirting (which he swears isn't flirting but just being nice and friendly to people who are usually overworked and underpaid, though hopefully not at his own establishment), and then he and Alexis order their late lunch/early dinner. A few minutes later, most of them have gotten their food and are digging in.

Castle slips his hand into hers, squeezing to get her attention. Kate glances at him.

"Was that the right thing?" he says quietly, his eyes troubled.

Kate dislodges his hand to reach up and wipe the fleck of mustard from the corner of his mouth with a finger, then rubs at the frown lines around his lips with a clean thumb. "You did good, Daddy."

He takes in a long breath and gives her something that's meant to be a smile. Kate leans in and gives his cheek a quick kiss (she doesn't want to be tasting mustard for the rest of her meal). She looks over at Alexis, who's tag-teaming it with Lanie to feed Dashiell his meal, both of them doing infinitely better than Kate ever has. Those secret ways.

She looks back at Castle. "The right thing was taking her to your office and saying whatever it was you said down there. You know Alexis. You know just how to love her. All I know is how to break her. That's my job. It's just like interrogating a suspect. Find the weakness. So that makes us a good team."

Castle frowns at her, shakes his head. "That's not true. What you did, last night, this afternoon? Kate. That's love. That's the hardest kind of love. It's easy to be the cool dad. Obviously it is. *I'm* the cool dad. I was. But loving her enough to make her hurt when she's wrong? Loving her enough to give her real consequences for being stupid? That's special. That takes guts. That takes. . .a mom. A good mom."

And then he goes back to his burger like what he's said hasn't just completely cracked her open.


	49. Chapter 49

Castle reciprocates Esposito's chin nod as they step out onto the sidewalk in front of the Old Haunt. Lanie hands Dashiell back over to his father, baby-talking to him and kissing his cheeks. She wipes lipstick from his chin. "You be good, little monster," she says.

Castle gives Espo a look over Lanie's head, and the detective glares back at him as if to say, _Don't even start_. Alexis is laughing at Lanie's baby talk and trying to entice Dashiell to wear his sunglasses. The boy squints into the sunlight, burying his face in his father's shirt, then lifting his head to give Lanie and Alexis a flirtatious smile.

The two girls giggle at Dashiell and coo at him, and Castle has to admit that he's a little bit proud of how easily Dashiell can charm the women. When he wants to. When he's not being a little terror.

Castle glances over his right shoulder and realizes that Kate is lingering on the outside of the group, stationed on the perimeter. Looking to his left, he sees Esposito on the other side, the two detectives drawing their respective mates in opposite directions. Lanie gravitates towards Esposito, and Castle has already unconsciously shifted towards Kate.

He wonders if that's a cop thing, or if it's some remnant of the solitude he hasn't been able to break through. Kate doesn't look lonely, or even all that much on the outside of things, looking in. She is just the lone anchor keeping him and Alexis and Dashiell from drifting too far off course.

Lanie has finally been successful getting the sunglasses on Dashiell's face through numerous peek-a-boo flirting sequences, and she is now pulling out her phone, telling him to hold still. Alexis tries to make Dashiell pose for a picture in his sunglasses, but Dash keeps putting his hands up to either rip them off his face or mash them against his head. Equal opportunity, since he likes doing both.

Esposito, looking impatient, grabs Lanie's hand and tugs, but she doesn't move. "I got like five minutes, chica. Seriously," he says, even as Lanie pulls him in to the group. Castle notices that Esposito comes easily enough, despite his protests about being late, as if all he needed was someone to ask.

Castle, not really needed for this adventure with the sunglasses except to hold Dashiell up, turns his head to look at Kate. He lifts Dash a little higher and gets a better grip on him with his left arm, then reaches for Kate with his right, wanting to pull her in as well.

Kate's only a few feet away, watching them and smiling to herself, that Mona Lisa smile, but she doesn't take his hand.

Castle wriggles his fingers, feeling suddenly that it's vital that Kate reach back. He feels Dashiell bouncing against his chest, then the boy's elbow jabs him as Dash pushes on his sunglasses, taking up some kind of explanation in his baby language.

"Kate." Castle slides a little to the right, a shuffling step, and his movement causes Kate to look at him.

He doesn't understand that look on her face, the one expertly masked by amusement but still lurking in her eyes, the sudden lines at her mouth. There's a weariness there he doesn't like.

His chest feels bruised, and not just because the boy is rocking back and forth, hands pressed to his sunglasses.

Castle feels his shoulder ache with the effort of holding up his arm, reaching for her, but surely that's just a trick of his mind? A psychosomatic effect of needing her to reach back-

Kate's fingers close around his, cool and lean, and Castle takes a breath, smiling, and pulls her in towards the group.

She comes, raising her free hand to lay it on Dashiell's back for an instant. He pulls her close enough for his thigh to brush against hers and only then does he feel somewhat better. Safer.

Kate laughs at the picture Lanie's taken of Dash in his sunglasses, and Castle feels the tension drain from him.

* * *

><p>When Lanie and Esposito head back towards the station, Kate realizes for the first time that she doesn't have to go with them; she's not needed at the precinct, not needed to solve this case, not needed to run down an alibi or ask for a warrant.<p>

Her chest feels tight.

Esposito didn't even ask her about the case while they ate. No shoptalk. Nothing. She feels out of it, disconnected from her own life.

And yet, her hand is in his, she can see Castle from the corner of her eye, juggling Dashiell in one arm and talking to Alexis about a plot point in his novel, his bangs hanging over his eyes. Her chest fills with the sight of him, of just him, still smiling at his daughter even while Dash pokes the earpiece of his sunglasses towards Castle's collar, trying to make his shades hang like daddy's.

Kate shakes Castle's hand off so that she can prevent Dash from poking him in the eye with the sunglasses, then takes them away. Back into the bag. Dashiell grunts at her and leans out for them, so Kate just scoops the boy out of his father's arms.

"You're gonna poke your dad's eye out, kiddo," she says, wrestling with him as Dash squirms.

Castle gives her a smile of thanks and puts his arm around Alexis. "So what are we doing next?"

"We? We aren't doing anything. You are going home to write, Castle." Kate slides her hand up to his neck to bring his head towards her. He comes willingly; their lips meet for a moment, then Dashiell lunges for his father and upsets their balance.

They break apart with a laugh, Castle unwilling to let go. She bites her lower lip, the boy clinging to both of them, keeping them together. Kate can't move away, doesn't want to, but she catches sight of Alexis's amused face at Castle's side.

She clears her throat and tugs backward, but Dashiell won't come. Castle sighs, wraps his arms around Dash, and Kate lets go.

"I don't wanna," he says, giving her a pout. Kate slides her hand down from his neck and rubs her thumb over his lip to push it back in.

"You gotta." She wants to kiss him again, long and slow, without an audience. "And when we get back, you're running with me, remember?"

"Oh. Uh. Well."

"In about three hours. Me, Alexis, and Dash are doing our own thing." She reaches for Dashiell back, but the boy buries his face in Castle's neck and grunts. He's probably mad at her for taking away his sunglasses, with the bright afternoon sunshine in his face.

"No," Castle says, looking at her with something dark in his eyes. "I've got enough done. And Sunday is the game, so I'll use the morning to write. I want to spend a couple hours with my family. Plus, Dash isn't going to let go without a fight."

Why does that thrill her? She chews on the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot, but Castle catches her out with a smirk. Kate steps into him and presses her cheek against his shoulder so she can smile behind his back. She feels Dash reach out and grab her hair, the three of them tangled now.

Alexis laughs and helps Castle get her free, and then they all step apart. "Okay. So what are we doing first, girls?"

Alexis looks at Kate with a raised eyebrow. Kate shrugs and gives in. "Fine. Central Park today. You ready for that?"

"Bring it on."


	50. Chapter 50

Castle doesn't want to have to carry Dashiell all the way to the playground at the south end of Central Park, but he also doesn't want to get into another discussion about the waste of money it is to hail a taxi for just a few blocks. So he carries Dash, tries not to grumble.

As soon as the boy sees the huge rocks forming Umpire Rock within Heckscher Playground, he wriggles like mad to get down, squirming against Castle's chest. Kate grins, looking proud of her idea. "This was one of my favorite playgrounds."

Castle isn't really convinced it's a good idea, but he lets his son drop to the gravel forming the path around the swings. "He's gonna want to climb the rocks."

And of course, Dashiell is off the moment his feet touch the ground, racing for the older kids playing along the outcropping of Umpire Rock that spreads out into the playground.

Castle starts out after him even as Alexis calls out. "Dad, I think it's only 6 and up."

"Too late," he mutters, and jogs after Dashiell, catching up to the boy as he gets to the base of a slab of rock. He scoops up Dash and carries him away from the massive rock formation, even as he spots a park employee headed their way.

When Castle returns with a squirmy Dash, Kate frowns and glances around at the older kids playing roughly and wildly around them.

"It's technically for the older kids," he says, and winces as Dashiell kicks to get free.

"Oh. I didn't realize. It's the only one I could remember," she says hesitantly, then glances around. "Surely there are others?"

"Oh yeah. Lots of playgrounds in Central Park, Kate. We'll just pick a different one." He wants to wipe that look off her face, but he doesn't know how anymore. The more time she spends trying to wrangle with Dash, the more she seems to think she's not any good at it.

"Let's go then," she says, and gestures up the path. "Pick a different playground."

Alexis, God bless her, slides her arm through Kate's and begins pulling her in a new direction. "Hey, there's the Three Bears playground at 79th and 5th. That's one of my favorites. It's for the littles."

Castle hefts Dashiell in his arms. "Hey, Dash! Let's go see the bear statue! Want to see the bears? And ride the swings?"

"Bears?" Dashiell asks, stopping his squirming long enough to look Castle in the face. "Zoo?"

"Oh. Not the zoo today, buddy. The bear statue. I'll show it to you."

Dashiell grunts in disappointment and leans way over, trying to get down again.

"Hey, kiddo. Sissy and Mommy are showing us the way."

"It's just south of the Met," Alexis calls back over her shoulder. "So we've got a little ways to go."

"Zoo!" Dashiell says loudly, pointing towards the girls.

"Not the zoo. Playground. Slide, swings, the sandbox." Castle hurries to catch up with Kate and his daughter, carrying Dash like an airplane along the path, making diving noises and engine sounds in an effort to distract him. Kate turns to look at them, her smile back in place.

"Hey, when we get to where 65th crosses through the park, let's take it out to 5th Avenue, then walk north from there. If we stay on the path, it'll take forever."

Alexis nods in agreement, but Kate furrows her brow. "But won't that take us right past the Z-O-O?"

Castle groans. "You're right. Shoot. Okay, we'll turn left on 65th and go up Central Park West on the other side. We'll have to cut through at the Natural History Museum."

"Hey, Dad, that would be fun sometime too," Alexis says, craning her neck to see past Kate between them. "I mean, with Dash. I think he'd like that too."

"Maybe when he's older. And more controllable."

Kate rolls her eyes. "When does that happen? The more controllable part? Isn't the terrible twos next?"

"Yeah. Good point."

Castle sees Alexis bump shoulders with Kate. "He's really not that bad. Okay, sometimes he's really energetic. And I guess he's worse with you guys. But when it's just me and him, he behaves. Don't you, bubba?"

Dashiell holds his arms out to Alexis. "Is-sis!"

"Well, at least there's that," Kate mutters. "Gives me hope for preschool."

"Which he is still too young for," Castle interjects, shooting her a look.

"Not really. Not for signing up for preschool," Alexis says. "I mean, remember when Paige's little sister went to Our Lady? They were on a waiting list for a year and a half, Dad."

Kate reaches out and squeezes his arm at his elbow, giving him a raised eyebrow. "In a year and a half, Dashiell is already three. He needs preschool now, Castle."

"He doesn't. He's perfectly social. That's all preschool does."

"It's not that kind of socialization I'm worried about," she huffs. "It's the other stuff that we can't seem to make him do."

"Like what?"

"Like stand in a line. Like put together a simple puzzle. Like learning how to share, and take turns, and being with kids his own age. And then there's things like not getting your way all the time and not being the only kid in the place so you're not always the center of attention."

"Which we said would be fixed by having another kid," Castle reminds her, then remembers how that conversation ended earlier and sighs. "Yeah. Okay. I see your point."

Kate steers them left onto 65th, avoiding a jogger, and reaches out to adjust Dashiell's sunglasses. The boy has been fiddling with them as they've walked so that now they're off his ears. As Kate guides the earpieces back into place, Castle is reminded that she's not going to be here much longer, not like this.

By next week, she's got to be back at work, running down leads and interrogating suspects at whatever hour of the day a body drops. And he's back to where he was last week, stretched thin and unable to get his own job done. And it's not that caring for a toddler is hard work, because he knows it is, but it's just that Dashiell is inexhaustible; Dash requires attention every second of the day just so he doesn't get at the knives in the dishwasher or fall down the stairs. Sure, he has no trouble playing by himself, entertaining himself, but Castle is afraid of letting him alone for that long.

"All right," he says when she pulls back from him. "Let's start looking for preschools."

Kate startles beside him, missing a step, but Alexis is at her side and pulls her right along. Castle ignores the look she throws him.

"You mean, preschool instead of having another kid?" Kate says.

"I mean, you're right. He needs all those things. And I. . ."

"You need your life back," she says softly. He can hear regret in her voice and it scares him a little. Castle looks over at her, sees the way she watches the trees, the people on the sidewalk, her eyes absorbing it but not really seeing it.

"I need some time to work," he answers, carefully. "But I have my life. This is my life. I want to be the one taking care of him, Kate. Not someone else."

She shrugs him off, but Alexis, from her other side, sighs at them. "Are mom and dad fighting?"

"Yes," says Kate while Castle laughs. "No."

"No," he says again, and hikes Dashiell up a little higher, keeping the kid's feet away from his belt where he's trying to climb. "We're not fighting."

"We'll fight later," Kate promises and gives him a narrow look.

He grins back at her and leans in close, intending his words to be for her ears only. "And after that, can we make up?"

"Ew, gross, Dad. I didn't need to hear that!"

He leans past Kate to give her a glare. "You weren't supposed to hear that, nosy."

* * *

><p>Kate watches Castle and Dash as they climb up the wide, shallow steps to the Three Bears statue. In the shadow of the Met, hemmed in by trees and lined by benches, the small playground is ideal for Dash. The gate they came in is unlocked, but it's easy to keep track of their little wild man here.<p>

Alexis is encouraging Dash to climb on the bears, helping him up, while Castle pulls out his phone to take another picture. Kate stands back, unwilling to sit down with all the young moms and nannies, but not yet able to join her family.

She wants to. It's not that she's tired of them, or wishing she was somewhere else. It's that sometimes they don't seem. . .real. Sometimes, it seems like she'll wake up and be back in her apartment, solitary and stuck. She doesn't want to think like this, but it just seems to be too good.

Too good for her, for the life she chose more than ten years ago. Her mother's murder has shaped the direction of her life, for good or ill, and Kate's not sure that this was ever a part of it, that this was ever supposed to happen to her. The things she gave up, like it was a bargain with God, in order to catch her mother's killer.

And she still hasn't done that, still hasn't figured out the whole puzzle. So should she be allowed to move on, to love like this?

Of course, it was being a detective that brought Richard Castle into her life; it was her tragic backstory that kept him there. So maybe it was her mother's murder that brought her this, but it doesn't always feel right. It doesn't feel like it should be her life.

Kate Beckett isn't supposed to be the woman with two kids and a husband, talking about preschools and scaring her step-daughter away from drugs. Kate Beckett is the daughter of a murdered woman; Kate Beckett is the crusading detective.

Like Castle once said, she's Batman. Bent on justice after the gruesome death of a parent. Batman doesn't get to have a family.

And yet, here she is. In the playground in Central Park, watching her son grip the ears on a bronze bear with an astonished and slightly crazy look on his face while her husband holds him to keep him from slipping off. Here she is.

And not just with a family, but with Richard Castle.

Rick Castle. How did this happen to her? Where did she-

Well, she catches herself before she can think _Where did I go wrong?_ And that's an indictment of her own subconscious, isn't it? But it isn't wrong, being with him. It's the only right thing in her life. And she's not sure how she got here, not sure what it is that keeps them so together, so as one, even when they fight, but it's not wrong.

Kate climbs the round steps up to the statue of the three bears and smiles back at the huge grin on Dashiell's face. The boy releases his grip on the bear's ears and reaches out for her, throwing his arms wide.

Castle grabs Dash with two hands, holding him up, and Kate reaches for her son, scooping him off the statue, kissing his cheek.

"Bear!" he says excitedly, and leans back for his spot. "Momma, bear!"

"I saw, buddy. You were holding on, riding a bear." Kate lets him get back on the bear's neck, putting a hand to his bottom to help.

"Sing?" Dashiell asks suddenly. Kate takes in his field of vision and spots the bucket swings.

"Yeah, you wanna swing?" She lifts him off the bear again and sets him down on the concrete.

"Sing, Momma," he demands and reaches up his hand to hers.

Kate feels his hand wrap around two of her fingers, already grimy, but so trusting and insistent, letting his mother lead him to the swings. Castle and Alexis are talking about the times they used to come to this playground, just the two of them, as they follow along behind her.

And she wants those memories for Dash; she wants to give him enough excursions to the playground that he remembers those three bears, that he has a favorite swing. She wants to be a part of those things too, not just Castle.

"Sing?"

"Yeah, baby, I'm taking you to swing. Almost there. See the little girl over there? She's swinging too."

"Sing too."

"You will. I'll push you, let you go really high."

"High, high, high," he chants, lifting an arm up to the sky, throwing his head back. She holds him up by the hand as his balance falters, watching the joy on his face.

"High, high, high," she murmurs.

Castle catches up to take Dashiell's other hand, helping hurry them along, the boy swinging between them every few steps.

Alexis runs ahead to claim his swing, her hair brilliant in the late afternoon sunlight. Next to the swing she's caught is a little girl of about three trying to master the art of swinging, leaning back at the wrong time and throwing her legs up to try to go higher, looking both terribly awkward and wonderfully joyful. She's got dark, curly hair like Dashiell's, only it touches her shoulders, and her eyes are wide with exhilaration, her bony arms and legs sticking out from the swing.

Kate turns her head to Castle, watches him lift Dashiell by the hand over a stick in their path. She remembers, suddenly, the picture on his desk of him and Alexis at about Dash's age, their backs to the camera as they walk a similar path in Central Park, holding hands.

A daddy and his daughter.

Kate swallows past a sudden knot in her throat. But she reaches out her free hand and snags Castle's tshirt, tugging.

He looks over at her, half-smiling at something Dash has done, and his eyes crinkle in the corners.

"I want another one," she says suddenly. "I want a little girl."


	51. Chapter 51

Castle sends Dashiell off with Alexis to slide down the spiral slide over and over while he ushers Kate to a park bench, semi-private, to talk. The air is warm with late afternoon sun. When Castle sits down, he sneaks a look at Kate.

Kate doesn't look like she wants to talk; suddenly, her jaw is clenched and her eyes won't meet his.

"Kate."

She shakes her head.

He looks at her for a long moment, studying the tension in her shoulders, and he realizes that she didn't mean to say it, or at least, not quite like that. Kate's not one for sentimentality, so she's got to be regretting her impulsive confession.

"Kate."

"No, Castle. Never mind."

"No, not never mind. I thought we finished this conversation."

"You finished it, maybe," she mutters, looking away from him.

"Kate. Come on." He leans back against the bench, watching her. "You can't say something like that and then not talk about it."

"Conversation's finished," she replies, lifting an eyebrow and turning to glare at him.

"Right. Kate. Look, you want to have another baby but you won't even use my credit card. I think maybe there are things we *should* be having conversations about first."

She crosses her arms, but the look on her face is no longer combative. "I know."

"You know?"

"I. . .I'm going to try."

"Try?" He sighs and crosses his arms as well, staring at the spiral slide, not really seeing it. "You need my cooperation for that one, I do believe."

"Not for that. . .I mean, I'm going to try to get used to the other thing. To the. . .inequality of our paychecks, the inevitability of using your money-"

"Kate," he chides softly, glancing back at her. The line of her jaw is still tense. "Sure, I make more money than you. But if the reverse were true, wouldn't you be pissed at me for making a big deal about it? Wouldn't you say I was being sexist and unfair?"

She opens her mouth, closes it, refuses to look at him.

He looks back to the playground, checking to make sure that Alexis and Dash are still in sight. He sees his son thump to the sand in front of the spiral slide with a shriek of glee, watches Alexis get him to his feet with a laugh.

"You're holding the money against me, Kate. And I don't really understand why. It's just money. Why is this the thing to come between us?"

She jerks her head towards him, causing him to turn and look at her.

"It's between us?" she asks, a frown settling lines into her face.

"Isn't it?"

"It didn't seem like it."

"You mean, when I was tricking you into using my money?"

Her anger flares at that, but she does a remarkable job of wrestling it down. He sees it in her eyes, the whole struggle playing out right in front of him. She doesn't even try to mask it. That's got to be something of a step forward for them.

"Okay," she hisses and takes a deep breath back in. "Okay. You've made your point."

"So. You have a problem using our money."

"Your money."

"Our money."

"Castle, let's be honest. It's yours. Before I was around, it was yours. After I'm-"

"After what? After you're *gone*? Is that what you think? You're just a flash in the pan? That it's too good to last? Jeez, Kate-" He rubs angrily at his face, not sure whether her silence is agreement or shock.

"Castle."

"Don't answer that, please. I don't think I want to know."

"I don't think that. It's not what I was going to say." She lays her hand on the bench between them; he sees it out of the corner of his eye. It's like she can't even touch him first; he's always got to be the one chasing after her, always the one risking himself while she stays safe.

Of course, what's his alternative? To *not* chase her? She's his. . .partner. His wife. The mother of his son. What else is there but to keep after her? He's the one who leans after her; he's the one to bring her back to his side.

So he wraps his hand around hers on the bench and salvages his pride by not being the one to talk first.

"I was going to say. . ." she starts, sighs. "After I'm over it, as in, when I no longer care so much about whose money I'm using, even then it's still yours, even if I'm using it all the time. It's still yours."

He takes a shaky breath. "Okay. So it's mine. And you being my wife, my partner, doesn't change that?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's yours," she says angrily, but she squeezes his hand tighter. "Just like that shirt is yours, and those shoes are yours."

"No," he says, shaking his head at her. He lifts their joined hands and points at Dashiell and Alexis racing around to climb up the spiral slide again. "It's not like my shoes. It's just like, that's my son."

She's silent beside him, and he drops their joined hands back into his lap, needing her closer.

"That's my son, Kate. But he's your son too. And Alexis? She's my daughter. But she's yours too. It's my money. But it's your money too."

She growls at him, jerking her hand back, but he holds on to it.

"We made that little monster together," she says, her voice something between a sigh and a laugh. "But we didn't make that money together."

She's pointedly not mentioned Alexis. Because, of course, Alexis proves his point. She's not going to disclaim Alexis now, not even just to him, not when he knows she's feel strongly about the young woman. But she is ignoring the wisdom of his logic.

He finally releases her hand to brush his thumb along her cheek. "But we did make that money together. At least, the money in your Nikki Heat account. Wouldn't exist without you, and you know it."

She opens her mouth, then shuts it, no argument against this either. He reclaims her hand and shifts closer to her on the bench, crossing his leg over his knee so that his thigh presses against hers.

"What's mine is yours." He rubs a thumb along her hand now, waiting. She's silent, but he can tell she's processing.

"Okay," she says softly.

"Okay?"

"Okay. I see your point. I'll use the money."

"Our money?"

She shoots him a look, grits her teeth, but sighs. "Our money."

He smiles, shifts to one side so he can dig his wallet out of his back pocket. Castle fishes out the debit card she left on the coffee table last night, presents it to her.

She narrows her eyes, clearly hating his moral victory, but takes the card. Instead of letting her have it, he traps her hand with his, closing his fingers around hers.

"I *am* sorry for tricking you, Kate. It wasn't right. It wasn't respectful of you."

Something in her eyes clears, and she gives him a short nod, then takes the debit card and slides it into her back pocket.

It's like a weight has lifted from his chest. He breathes in a fresh gulp of air and smiles as Dashiell spills face-first into Alexis's open arms at the bottom of the slide. And then Kate settles in a little closer to him, puts her chin against his shoulder as she watches the two kids as well.

"I'm sorry that I'm like this," she says softly. "That I have such a hard time with it. It's not you, Castle."

"Sometimes, I wonder."

"I know," she whispers and he feels her press her forehead into his shoulder blade. It makes him a little sad that the only way they can have a really honest conversation is when they sit side by side, unable to really look each other in the eyes.

"Then why do you. . ." He trails off, not sure it's a fair question.

"I don't know. I don't mean for you to doubt me."

He huffs a breath and gives her a look over his shoulder. "I don't doubt you, Kate. It makes me doubt *me.* That I'm doing enough for you, that I'm even making it worth your while, that I-"

"Stop," she says hastily, leaning forward to look at him this time. "Don't say that. That's not true."

"I know," he sighs. "But remember? I'm the one with the irrational worry."

She slides forward on the bench until their knees touch, presses her hands to his thighs. "Well, stop it. Worrying about whether or not I want to be here, Castle, just makes this all the more difficult for us. It gets you upset over whether or not I spend your money, and it makes me nuts trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, grinning at her.

"Don't joke. This isn't funny."

"It is, a little bit. I like it when you order me around."

She narrows her eyes at him. "I'd like it better if you did what I said."

Castle gives her a soft smile. "I'll try, Detective."

Kate leans back against the bench, releasing her hold on him to cross her arms again. He waits for a second, knowing she's got more on her mind.

"I'm not looking to make you doubt yourself, Castle. Do you think I'd even be here if I didn't. . .if you didn't do it for me? If I didn't love you?"

"It's not about love, Kate," he says, sighing again. The ugly secrets of his soul. "It's not even about sex. I know you love me. I know you want me-"

"Then what's the problem?"

"It's the rest of it." He shrugs at her.

She turns irritated eyes to him. "The rest of what? What else is there but love and lust?"

He shifts on the bench, raising an eyebrow at her. "Jeez, hearing you say that is sexy."

"Focus, caveman."

"Uh-huh." This is the angry he likes, the passionate and motivated angry. The sexy as hell angry.

"What else is there, Castle? There's nothing else between love and. . .desire."

"The rest of it, Kate. The daily life stuff."

"Oh, believe me, Castle, daily life stuff is all about love. If that wasn't about love, you think I'd put up with all your little foibles? Your tendency to wake me up in the middle of the night to show me some cool thing you found on the internet? Your falling asleep in your writing chair only to come press those cold toes against my calves when you do finally come to bed?-"

"Okay, okay, don't mess with the detective when she's sleeping. Got it."

"That's love, Castle. Do I kick you out of bed?"

"No, you don't," he answers, grinning at her now. "You know, you're very focused on this right now. Tunnel vision. Can't be distracted."

"Unlike yourself. Distracted by anything and everything. But that's love, Castle. And well, sometimes that's lust as well." She gives him a sultry look, and Castle wants to snatch her off the park bench and go find a secluded spot. But clenches his fists and takes a breath.

"Okay then, I get it," he shrugs at her, still smiling.

"So then. When you start having those stupid, irrational worries about whether or not you're doing enough, Castle, just give it up and remember that I love you, you idiot, and that takes care of the rest. Love covers a multitude of sins, right?"

"Have mercy," he says softly, curling his lip.

She catches the imitation and shakes her head at him, but reaches out and brushes a hand through his bangs, strokes her fingertips along his cheek.

"I do love you." She lets that linger for a moment, then continues. "You wanna make me happy, right?"

"Always."

"Then stop talking about money, and get back to the real conversation, Castle."

"What's the real conversation?" He's not going to be unmanly now and lean into her palm, but it's a close thing. Instead, he snags her hand by the wrist and draws her closer. She resists only to draw him towards herself, her eyes making promises.

"I want you to get me pregnant, Castle."

The surge of arousal that floods him is so intense that he hunches over, elbows on his knees, and gives her a dirty look.

"Which one is that, Rick? Love or lust?"


	52. Chapter 52

Kate knows it's time to walk away. There's a delicate balance to this art, so she's got to let him sit with that for a moment. She gets up from the bench and finds Dashiell running around the spiral slide, intercepts him in a spinning hug.

Alexis stands up and dusts off the knees of her jeans, pushes her hair back behind her ears. "You guys okay?"

Kate smiles at her and bounces Dash to keep him distracted a little. "Yeah. Just. . .talking. Hey, do you know where the we could all swing? These are baby swings. I was wanting those regular-"

"Yeah. There's another playground nearby, just down the path. We can all swing there." Alexis steps off the border around the sand, heading for the gates.

Kate gestures to Rick, and she's relieved to see him stand and follow them down the path.

The Castle family migrates to the big kids' swings. Rick still hasn't spoken to her, but she tries not to worry about it. They all seek out a swing, settling in a row.

Kate holds Dashiell in her lap, his little legs sticking out alongside hers, his hands clutching the chains as she gets the swing going. Alexis swings beside them, already pumping her legs and getting higher, and Castle is at Kate's left, barely moving, watching her.

She ignores him. She focuses on her son, who is clutching the chains tightly. He is grinning as she swings slowly, building up some speed. Kate leans back suddenly, and Dashiell gives a little yelp as the wind hits his face; he topples back against her as he loses his balance. She has an arm hooked around the chain and then snaked around his waist but she tightens her hold as she pumps her legs.

She glances over at Rick and sees the lines in his face that not even swinging can erase; she feels sorry for putting them there. She was the one teasing him when she knows he's got some deep-rooted fears when it comes to her getting pregnant, but she went there anyway.

She's not even sure she can convince him it's a good idea. She's not sure it *is* a good idea. It was really just an urge, a sudden overwhelming urge to make real this image she has of a rowdy, dark-haired girl who plays with her wild, reckless older brother while Castle hovers nearby. An urge that hasn't entirely faded. . .

But that's a stupid reason to have another child. And irresponsible. Not to mention that she's already got one son she barely has a handle on, and a job that she won't quit but which takes so much of her time, and maybe one day, will take her life as well.

Completely irresponsible of her. Risky. Selfish.

Of course, these are the same things she said about getting involved with Castle. And while they were true, to some degree, those things ended up not mattering when it came to actually being with Castle.

It took her long enough though, didn't it? She was pregnant before she even had the chance to figure out what she wanted with Castle, and she refused to marry him throughout her pregnancy even though he did convince her to move in with him.

Dashiell was born on Halloween, but it took another eight months before the day-in and day-out of life with Castle seemed real enough, stable enough, necessary enough that she brought it up again. It had to be her; Castle wasn't about to ask her again, for the hundredth time, when she'd made it clear that she wanted to get used to everything first.

It has to be her now, too. That's the problem. Castle's not willing to rock the boat when it comes to this. Which she's grateful for; he knows her too well. He knows not to push. But then it falls on her to get things done.

So it took a long time for her to figure out this is where she's supposed to be. So maybe it's just taken her this long to figure out what she wants out of their family as well. Maybe it's just insecurities and frustrations that hold her back instead of real obstacles. If she wants a little girl, why shouldn't she and Castle have a little girl?

And if she has another boy instead?

Kate tilts back in the swing again, making Dashiell gasp with delight, his eyes blinking fast against the wind.

If she has another boy, oh. . .

Oh, then Dash has a brother. A best friend, a whole new personality added to their family. A boy just like Dash might be more than she can handle, but it also might be exactly what Dash needs to keep him busy. And what if the younger one is completely different? What if he's laidback and sleeps in till ten?

As the dizzying plunge of the swing catches her off-guard, Kate realizes that she really *does* want another child. She's always wanted more than one; all her barbie families had three kids when she was little. All the stuffed animals had more than one kid because she felt so alone as an only child, so isolated. She does want another. Maybe not now, maybe not until Dashiell is a little more manageable, older, mature, but some day.

Some day, another little baby. She flinches as Dashiell lurches forward, tightens her hold on him. She's not a huge fan of the baby stage, but Castle is exceptional at it. Of course. It will be okay. Right?

Kate watches the ground rush beneath her, then positions her feet so she can push off against the dirt, go higher, faster. Dash squeals at the added momentum and then belly laughs as they reach the pinnacle of their swing, his body shaking with his mirth.

She uses the ground to push off again, and Dashiell's laughter peaks breathlessly. Kate grins at the sound and sees Castle slowing his swing to watch them. Alexis is already out of hers and leaning against the pole between their swings, her eyes fixed on Dash's joy.

Dashiell belly laughs when Kate does it again, hunching over her arm as he does, his eyes scrunched up and his cheeks like fat apples. Castle has jumped off his swing as well and comes to Alexis's side, both of them watching Dash's full-body laughing as the swing pendulums.

Kate adds a little bit of a jump to her next push off, and Dashiell screams, laughing so hard that his whole body is a rag doll against her arm, helpless to the drag of gravity. His laughter sounds like a someone has just told the best joke in the world; it just goes on and on, growing richer and more desperate with every peak of the swing.

Finally, when his laugh grows in volume and wildness to the point of being crazy, Kate starts to slow down, letting her feet scrape the ground. Dashiell leans back against her chest, hands still clenched around the chains of the swing, his little body coming up with helpless giggles every once in awhile, breathing hard.

When they slow down enough for him to get under control again, Dashiell releases the chains and claps. "Mo, mo, mo!"

"More?" she questions, teasing his neck with a brush of her nose and a kiss. "You want more swing?"

"Peas, momma!"

Kate looks up at Castle to share her smile with him and sees the longing on his face, naked and unbound.

"Hey baby, why don't you swing with Daddy?" she says instead, and slows their progress until they are only rocking slightly back and forth. "Daddy looks like he needs to swing."

"Daddy!" Dashiell cries out, reaching his arms towards Castle.

His father comes for him, scooping him up but giving Kate a dark and wild look. She wonders what's on his mind, if he's forgiven her for their conversation. For everything. Or maybe he's thinking about giving in to her?

She stands up from the swing, holding onto it by the chain. "Rick?"

"Yeah, let's swing, buddy." He takes her place, holding Dashiell to his chest, and wraps his arms around the chains. "Let's see if we can go higher than Mommy."

"Yeah, yeah!" Dashiell claps his hands again but rocks backward when Castle pushes off.

"Gotta hold on," Kate scolds Dash, stepping away from the path of the swing. When she's convinced that Castle is relatively okay, or at least unwilling to meet her eyes and let her know any differently, Kate joins Alexis at the pole, leaning against its white paint.

Alexis gives her a grin. "I've never seen him laugh that hard before."

"Me either," Kate agreed, smiling to herself. "He sounded scared out of his mind."

"He did! He likes to be scared. Like with hide and seek. Thrill-seeking."

"Oh great," Kate groans, shaking her head with a smile towards Alexis. "Just what we needed. Another Rick Castle."

Alexis laughs at that and crosses her arms over her chest, watching her father and her little brother swing. Dashiell starts laughing again when Castle gets some height, his laughter starting in earnest at the peaks of the swing's arc, trailing off as they ground rushes past, then growing again as they come back up.

"I kinda heard some of what you and dad were talking about," Alexis says suddenly, not looking at Kate.

"Which part?" she says back, determined not to blush.

"You want to have another kid?" Alexis asks, shifting back and forth on her feet.

Kate sighs. "I think so. Eventually."

"Eventually."

Kate chews on her lip and tilts her head, watching Castle with his son. "Yeah," she says softly, something tight in her chest.

Alexis scuffs at the gravel with the toe of her shoe, but says nothing more. She looks upset. Or deep in thought. Kate releases her bottom lip from her teeth's hold, soothes the irritated place with her tongue. She tries not to interrogate Alexis about it, to let the girl open up when she feels like it.

She realizes that Castle would know just what to do to make it not so awkward. Castle would hug her or touch her shoulder or squeeze her elbow, something.

Kate, hesitant about touching in the first place, opens her hand and tries not to think too hard about it. She ends up linking arms with Alexis, which is usually the move Alexis does to her, to Kate, so maybe this will feel familiar. Natural.

Alexis flashes her a small smile, but some of the tension seems to drain out of the girl's body. She still doesn't mention the conversation though.

After a long, torturous minute, Alexis takes a deep breath, then asks, "Why did you let Dad name Dash? How did that happen?"

Kate isn't sure how this ties in to the other thing, but she's willing to see where the conversation leads. "I didn't. He didn't. I named Dash."

Alexis half-turns towards her in surprise, breaking some unspoken rule of theirs that all the serious conversations don't happen face to face but side by side. Or maybe that's just Kate's unconscious rule.

"What do you mean?" Alexis asks, a funny look on her face.

"I named him. What makes you think your father did?"

"Well. Because. He's named for Dashiell Hammett, isn't he?"

"Yes. I read too." Kate laughs a little but watches Alexis's confusion, not sure what she's getting at. "Hammett was a writer of detective stories," Kate explains, shrugging at the girl.

Alexis's face is hesitant now, as if broaching an uncomfortable subject. "And uh, you picked that name? Dad didn't?"

"Right. I told you, Hammett was an author who wrote detective stories. So that makes it some Castle, some me: author, detective. Dashiell."

Alexis's face clears immediately, drops into soft surprise. "Oh. Kate. Does Dad know this?"

Kate laughs. "Of course."

"No, I mean. . .did he ask you why you picked Dashiell?"

"Of course he did. He said if it was for Dashiell Hammett and I said yes."

Alexis shakes her head with a kind of helpless gesture that makes Kate think Alexis is bemoaning Kate's ignorance. "Not like that. That doesn't explain it like you just explained it to me. I mean, does Dad know that? That you named him Dash because he's part you and part Dad?"

"Well, I assume he gets it. Why wouldn't he?"

"Because he's dense. And because I don't think that would ever to occur to him. Well, no, it would occur to him, but he'd think it wouldn't occur to you."

She raises an eyebrow and laughs at Alexis. "He wouldn't think that it would occur to me? Why wouldn't it?"

"It's just not. . .you," Alexis says helplessly. She looks apologetic. "You're not like that. Sentimental. I mean, there's so much meaning in Dash's name that I didn't expect. I just-"

Kate stays silent, wondering if this is true, if this is how she's projected herself even to Alexis, to Castle as well. Naming her son Dashiell was just. . .the only thing she could do to make Castle understand.

But maybe it didn't make things any clearer. Maybe that's another way they haven't communicated. She tries to let her actions say everything, because words are hard, but Castle is a man of words. . .

"I'll tell him again," Kate says softly and draws Alexis closer to her, squeezing her hand.

And maybe that will sway him.


	53. Chapter 53

"So what have we learned today?" Kate says, twisting in the foyer of their apartment to look at him. Alexis is already heading upstairs with her phone out. Castle has an urge to take it from her, but he lets her go instead.

Kate takes a few steps back then comes to a stop at the threshold of their living room, waiting for him.

"What have we learned?" Castle gives her a questioning grin, letting Dashiell get down. "You have no idea where the kid-friendly places are in New York?"

"Haha. Very funny," she mutters and reaches forward to snag Dash before he can escape. She wrestles with him for a moment, then manages to yank the dirty tshirt over his head.

"Am I supposed to keep guessing?" Castle stoops over to pry off Dash's shoes, tossing them beside the door. "Or are you gonna tell me?"

"Here's what we learned." Kate says, sitting in the floor now to pull off Dashiell's pants and socks as well. She lets the kid go in just a diaper, depositing his dirty clothes in the hall. "Hey, Dash, wait a sec. Let me-" She corrals him with an arm around his belly, grabs a wet wipe from the box Castle always leaves at the end of the couch, and tries to wipe down Dash's face and hands.

Castle throws the clothes towards the laundry room and begins unpacking the bag, pulling out a sticky sippy cup, three empty snack containers, the plastic bag with the dirty diaper from the quick change on the subway, and the box of neosporin that Kate bought on their way home.

"First off, we learned that fate is against me using your money," she says, reaching past him to get her wallet. That extra debit card to the home account that Castle has been saving in his wallet for her? It didn't work when she used it at the pharmacy. Of course.

"Fate. Right. Because you believe in fate," he says, taking the card from her when she produces it. "I'm sending out for a new one. In the meantime, take mine." He fishes into his back pocket but his wallet isn't there.

Kate produces it with a flourish from the side pocket of the Dashiell bag. He sighs in relief.

"Thanks for keeping up with me," he murmurs, pulling out the other debit card and handing it over. He's gets a little thrill when she takes it and puts it in her wallet without another comment.

"Someone has to." She tosses her wallet onto the hall table and heads for the couch. "Second thing we learned?"

Castle watches her sink into the couch. "No teasing in public places." He is still on the razor's edge of aroused.

Kate shoots him a grin, that full-bodied smile that knocks the breath out of him. "At least not with small children around."

"I'm going to hold you to that one of these days." He grins back and follows her to the couch. "True. Third?"

"Third. We don't communicate very well," she sighs.

He settles down beside her and drops a hand to her knee. She shifts her legs to knock his hand away, but draws her feet up onto the couch and turns to face him, leaning closer.

Rick circles her ankles with his hands, despite having been knocked from his earlier perch. "We don't, do we?" He squeezes her legs. "I guess I rely on observation too much, like I'll just know what you need because I've been watching you for so long."

Kate reaches out a hand and rubs at the corner of his mouth with her thumb, like he's got a spot or something. "Which is creepy, we've already established that."

"Sure, I'll give you that one," he murmurs, loathe to dislodge her fingers from his face.

"But how am I supposed to know what you need?" she says softly, then shakes her head. "Alexis reminded me that maybe I haven't been too clear." She moves to withdraw her hand.

"What?" Confused, he captures her hand and draws it to his chest. This is what he needs.

"She said you didn't know why I named the kid after Hammett."

"Oh." He flattens out her fingers, presses her palm to his chest. "Um. I thought you said it was because you liked his writing?"

Kate's mouth twitches and Castle can see that's the wrong answer.

"She asked me why I let you name the kid."

"You *didn't* let me name him," he whines. "You kept the name from me until he was born, which is so not fair."

Kate's middle finger pushes against the muscle of his chest in silent amusement, but her eyes hold some real regret that he's surprised to see. "Probably not that fair. At the time, I still thought. . ."

Castle watches her, tilting his head to study her face, the swirl of dark color in her eyes. He can't pinpoint this look exactly, but he knows she's got something serious to say, and no good way of saying it.

"You still thought it wouldn't last," he offers. He's not stupid; he knew that when she moved in with him during the pregnancy, she expected to move out as soon as she could satisfy his abject need to hover. "You thought I'd let you go. How little you know."

Her lips twitch again, this time in real amusement. "How little I knew."

"Never going to let you go, Kate," he says, and he realizes his voice is rough with emotion he doesn't want to look at too closely. All she'll let him have of her is her hand, so he presses it hard against his chest and watches her, hoping this time she sees what he needs.

"Have you figured out what Dash's name means to me?" she says back, watching him as well.

"What his name means," he says slowly. What does this have to do with not communicating?

"Do you know what it means to me, Castle? To me. Dashiell's name." She narrows her eyes at him.

"You like to read?" he questions, lifting his eyebrows and going for levity. He still has her hand trapped against his chest; she pushes on him a little.

"Dashiell Hammett wrote detective fiction, Castle."

"I do know that."

"Well, do you see how that's perfect for our son's name?"

_Our son_. That's his clue. Castle smiles, sees exactly what she's trying to communicate. He lifts her palm to his lips and kisses it; she curls her fingers. "I do see. But I'd really love to hear you say it."

Kate slides a little closer, twists her hand so that she can brush her fingers along his cheek and then palm his neck. "I named our son Dashiell because it reflects both of us. A writer, a detective. Making him: part me, part you."

He lets his grin spread across his face slowly, raises his hand to thread through the hair at her neck. "Part me, part you," he repeats. "I hoped so."

"I thought you knew so," she says back, and Castle manages to see the brief flicker of vulnerability in the back of her eyes.

"Maybe I did," he soothes, leaning forward to touch her forehead with his own. "If we have a girl, what would you name her? Agatha?"

She grins slowly and pulls back from him. "No. It's your turn to name. And does that mean. . .?"

"While that's a very tempting offer-" Castle drinks in Kate's grin for a moment, then shakes his head. "I can't do it, Kate."

She sighs. "Not today, Castle. But later? Not soon. Just. . .eventually."

"I can't see me changing my mind on this one," he says softly, trying to cushion the blow.

"I couldn't see me changing mine either. But-"

"Kate, please don't ask me to put your life in danger," he rushes out, squeezing her neck with the force of his need. "Please don't."

Her face smooths out, making the soft expectance disappear along with all of her fight. She pulls against his hand at her neck, and he lets her go, sighing.

"Kate."

"No, that makes sense. I get it."

"Just give me some time," he pleads, recognizing that while he'll do anything for her, anything, this is one thing he's not sure he can do. "I don't know. Just. . .hold off for awhile. Please?"

Kate shakes her head. "Forget I asked. It was irresponsible. Risky. I know. I was-" she shrugs her shoulders. "Caught up. Don't think about it."

"I still think about it," he answers quickly, wanting to reclaim some of her tenderness for himself again. "Of course I think about it. But then I think about how you almost died, and I can't. . ." He clenches his hands into fists, presses them into the couch. How selfish it is, to block her in this when he was the one to bring it up in the beginning.

Kate has already pulled her limbs back into her body, sitting elegantly against the couch, closed off from him.

"Kate."

She turns her head to look at him, but the distance is in her eyes.

"Let's say eventually. Okay? Eventually. Give me a chance to stop being a coward about losing you."

She must hear him, but she still doesn't look happy. Rick leans in closer, wants to wrap her up in his arms and hold her but he doesn't think she'd like that either.

"Okay? Just. . .let's wait until Dash turns two. Give me 6 months. Can we just not talk about it for 6 months?"

"Six months," she repeats, then nods. She still doesn't look happy. In fact, she looks fragile.

"Kate?" He holds his breath at her silence. "What about that communicating stuff?"

She waves away his concern. "I'm just. . .confused."

"Confused?"

"When did *I* become the one asking for this?" she says, shaking her head.

Castle chuckles, lets a hand trail along her arm. "You love me."

Kate laughs back, surprised it seems, and shifts smoothly to her knees, leaning in closer to him, practically draping herself along his chest.

"Don't sound so smug when you say that, Castle."

He wraps his arms around her, thrilled by the contact, by her offering herself up to it. She seems to know, more and more lately, exactly when he needs to feel her, close against him, exactly when he needs that reassurance. He's not sure how she knows what he needs, but he's grateful for it.

"Too late. I'm already naturally smug. Add your love to the mix and I'm insufferable."


	54. Chapter 54

"I. . .can't. . .believe. . ."

"Breathe, Castle," she laughs, running a little slower to let him catch up.

"Can't believe you talked me into this," he groans, using an arm to wipe sweat from his forehead. He's wearing those loose basketball shorts and a tshirt that says "Guns don't kill: Dads with pretty daughters do."

"Stop being a baby," she laughs again. Kate nudges him towards the middle path and they take it towards the water. The park in the afternoon light looks dirty and tired, but Kate is energized by the bounce in the pavement, the thrum of blood in her ears, and the uneasy rhythm of Castle breathing next to her.

"I'm gonna die," he pants.

"You are not." Kate measures her breaths to the time of her footsteps. "In fact, you've been working out in secret, haven't you?"

He stutters on a breath and chuckles. "How'd you know?" Sarcasm drips from his voice.

"Okay, so you're not working out in secret. Still, you're in shape. Your act is a little over the top, Castle. We're basically jogging here and you're panting like a dog." Kate nudges his shoulder with hers and increases their pace.

"No fair. Now you're going faster."

"That's what you get for pretending to be incapable."

"Slow up," he whines again, his breath whistling in his chest.

She ignores him, goes a little bit faster now. Not the pace that she set with Alexis, so it's not grueling or anything, and she knows that Castle can do it. "Have you been lifting weights lately?"

"Not really."

She grunts. "Are you telling me that you're just naturally athletic and you've been wasting your potential?"

He huffs a laugh, catching the reference. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're the type that every woman hates," she says, measuring her breath between the words to keep in rhythm.

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

She shakes her head with a laugh. Kate risks a glance away from the path to study Castle as he runs beside her. His tshirt already sports sweat stains, and even though she can hear him breathing, he doesn't look strained for air. A natural.

"You were running some before," she presses.

"When I followed the 12th," he admits.

"Why?"

"Because you did a lot of running down of suspects. And I wanted-" Castle sucks in a breath and takes a long stride over a pitted section of the path; Kate skirts around it to the other side. "I wanted to be able to chase after you."

"You certainly did."

"Now look. I chased you down, but. Still running. Somehow, not fair." His words are choppier now that she's subtly increased the pace again.

"Sure it is. If I've got to be social and make nice at a charity event-" Her own breath is shorter as well, so she eases off a bit, and Castle matches her. "If I've got to do that, you've got to run. Sickness and health. All that."

"Also says richer or poorer."

She grunts at that.

"You trying to kill me then? Get outta your contract early?"

Kate lets loose a laugh and veers into him, knocking him off the path a little. Castle yelps and jumps over a dip in the grass, then heads back towards the pavement. She's smirking to herself.

"So you're going to do this run with me. And then what?"

She holds out her hand, as if to guide him back onto the path. Castle ignores it and springs up next to her, practically vaulting over a plastic cup someone has left beside a park bench. Natural athlete. So annoying. He probably only has to think about it and he loses the extra inches on his waist, the bastard.

"What do you mean, and then what?"

"What next? You gonna come with me to the publicity stuff for the book?"

"All of it?" she hedges, sucking in a breath as they start up a hill.

Castle appears completely unfazed about the incline. "Some of it?"

"Some of it," she agrees, lifting her knees to give her an extra burn. Castle keeps up the pace no problem, a trickle of sweat starting down the side of his face. She sighs and turns her eyes back to the path.

"You've been to all the book release parties, but how about the limited engagements?"

"What're those?"

"Book signings, basically, in some of the stores around the city before the book officially releases."

She chews on her lip as they crest the hill, heading for the left-hand path towards the trees, where it's cooler under their shade.

"Do I have to sit by you as you sign books? Act like arm candy?"

"You're no deep-fried twinkie. No, wouldn't make you do the boring stuff. Just. Come hear me speak, give a reading."

"I've been to one of your readings," she says, her shoulders slumping in relief as they get under the treetops, cooler now.

"Yeah, it's like that, but a little more publicity focused. It's critics and stuff."

She huffs a breath and rolls her shoulders to work out the ache right under her scapula. "I can do that."

"Really?"

Kate glances over at him, sees the surprise on his face. "Really."

"That would be. . .awesome."

"Why haven't you asked me to do this before?"

She ducks an overhanging limb and jogs a little faster, waiting on Castle's reply.

"Can we. Talk about this. Later?" he says, and she can hear the breathlessness in his voice.

"Oh."

"It's just. I can't talk. And run. 'Kay?"

"Okay," she says, glancing over at him to make certain that's all it is. But nothing's showing on his face. Still, if he wanted her at these book things, why didn't he tell her?

They jog side by side; she pushing the pace when Castle sounds like he's doing all right, keeping his breathing in rhythm, then slacking the pace when he starts getting breathless again. The flicker of orange afternoon light through the spaces between tree trunks creates a pastiche across the pavement and their bodies as well, an ever-moving jumble of light and dark. She feels the warmth of it dappled on her face.

Castle's always been laid back and nonchalant about the publicity stuff. He tells her where and when he's going, he takes Alexis when she seems interested, but he's never told her that he wants her to be there. Of course, she's never offered to go. It's usually the crowd of people who all read the page six column's speculations about her when she got pregnant, and she's never been sure she can face them, the people who care about page six.

The precinct, her friends, the guys on her squad, her father, her captain. . .they didn't read page six. They didn't read the rumors and the insinuations. Of course, after the first article, Alexis wouldn't let her read them either. Alexis acts as Kate's publicity filter now as well, just as she does for her dad, keeping tabs on the gossip so that Kate doesn't have to read whatever hurtful thing is out there now.

But to face a party filled with people who do?

"Castle?" Does he want her there? Of course he does. He should want her there, a person to stand by him who *doesn't* care what they say about him on page six.

"Seriously?" he whines, but the effect is ruined by the hoarseness of his voice as he breathes roughly at her pace.

"I just-"

"I didn't figure you-" He coughs to clear his throat, turns his head away from her for a second. "-you'd be worried about this."

"Not worried. Just. Why didn't you ask before now?" She's his partner. She should've known; he should've asked.

"Like I said before. 'Bout the splinter." He pauses to navigate a fallen branch in the path.

She dodges it as well and swipes at the sweat trickling down her neck. Her chest is soaked, her arms gleaming with it in the sun. She tucks a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear, using her sweat to keep it slicked down. "The splinter?"

"I told you then. When Dash was born. I'd do this at your pace, Kate."

_At your pace._ He was waiting on her to get with the program, waiting for her to figure things out.

She blinks through the sudden glare of afternoon light, swallows down the lump in her throat. They break the cover of the trees, and she looks over at Castle in the full force of the setting sun. His hair is burnished, the lines of his face made shadowy and deeper.

Her foot catches an uneven spot in the pavement and she silently curses her distraction as she stumbles. Castle's hand is already at her elbow, steadying her. Kate rights herself quickly, and he lets go just as quickly, as if he was never there.

But she knows. She knows how he's supported her this whole time.

Kate glances down the path for the oak tree at the water's edge, her mental marker for the turnaround of the three mile course she's set for them. Against the setting sun, the tree is a dark and distinct tangle of limb and leaf, lonely in its solitary spot beside the track.

But Kate's not alone. That's what this is about now, what her life means. She's not alone in this.

She wipes at the sweat curling into her eye and glances over at him, her partner.

"A break at the tree, then turnaround to go back," she says, panting now because she's lost the rhythm.

"Good," he grunts, sucking in another breath, apparently to compensate for what he's lost by talking.

She can't help herself. The affirming pound of her feet against pavement, the exertion of muscle, the pull of ligaments across bone and joint, they work together to push her past herself, out of herself, numb to worry or frustration. She can't help herself now. She reaches out a hand and makes a fist in his tshirt, unable to say what she needs to say, unable to stop him, only able to hold on.


	55. Chapter 55

After the three miles in the park, Rick insists on walking back to their loft. He's dripping sweat and he's got the makings of a blister on his big toe. His right knee pops when he extends his leg, loud enough for Kate to raise her eyebrows at him.

"All right, all right," he grumbles. "I'm probably falling apart. No old man jokes."

Kate gives him that pleased smile but doesn't attempt the humor, which is good, because he's not really in the mood to laugh at how quickly he's let his body rundown. Before Kate got pregnant, Castle spent some time making an effort, as he confessed earlier. Now, he's lucky if he can get in a few reps in the weight room. Kate at least has access to the 12th's sparring and practice room. He's got a couple of machines and a kid who can't be left alone.

Jeez. He needs to get on top of this again.

Dark clouds linger in the sky, obscuring the last of the setting sun. He smells burning ozone, but hasn't seen lightning yet; the air is heavy. Castle rubs his hand across the back of his neck, mopping sweat, and wipes his palm off on his shirt.

He sneaks a look at Kate and snags her hand, lacing his fingers through hers as they cross the street. She doesn't step closer, but she does squeeze his hand back.

Also, he could swear that at the turnaround tree, Kate was clutching his shirt, but when he managed to glance back, she was darting away from him, pushing the pace. But he's pretty sure she'd been holding on to him.

She's changed. She's still Kate Beckett of course, but she's. . .enhanced. Which doesn't sound as good as he meant it, but the idea is there. When Kate woke up after their first night, he didn't know what to expect, but she stared at him in bed (he'd been staring at her first, of course), and then got up, took a shower, got dressed.

Like nothing happened. He'd played it her way, getting out of bed while she was in the shower, brushing his teeth over the kitchen sink with toothpaste he swiped from her linen closet, trying to plan out his next move.

The coffee was already brewed thanks to the timer, so he made up a cup for her and put it in the bedroom on top of her dresser, next to the box where she'd put her gun and badge the night before. He made breakfast then, listening closely for her once the shower shut off, the sounds of her opening drawers, blow-drying her hair, the silence of her putting on makeup.

She came out of her room fully clothed, but with that mug in her hand, a smile ghosting her lips. She kissed him, rubbed her thumb over his bottom lip, looked at him as if he was completely unexpected.

He hadn't thought she'd still be so enigmatic, but he'd fed her breakfast and watched her check messages on her phone, then got dressed and departed with her, separating down on the sidewalk. He went home; she went to the precinct.

He remembers the rest of that day. They didn't say a word to each other about it, but Beckett kissed him when he left and texted him yes to his dinner suggestion. They ate, she laughed with abandon at something stupid he did, and then she went home alone. He got to kiss her, slowly, with relish, and then she left and he didn't get to follow.

Kate's different now. She doesn't go home alone, of course, but the idea of her not talking to him about something big like that. . .pretty much unheard of these days. She's still a mystery, but she's not unknowable. She's a mystery that he's getting to read, page by page, and while he probably knows how this one ends, it's still amazingly well-written; it still captivates him. She's still extraordinary.

Castle glances over at her, squeezes her hand, enjoying the silence between them for a second longer before he needs to talk, explain to her some things now that they're apparently having these conversations.

"Kate."

"Hm?" She looks over at him absent-mindedly, and his heart catches at how beautiful she looks, disheveled and glowing with sweat, her hair curling at her neck. He can't even say it, can't even tell her; it gets stuck in his chest.

He takes a moment to come down from that, clutching at her hand in his, taking deep breaths, and she loses interest, her eyes going back to the people on the sidewalk as they slide through the crowd.

He feels okay now. "I was thinking about something."

"Uh-oh." She grins at him.

"Yeah. Well. Hear me out."

She squeezes his hand, even shifts so that she's walking closer to him, less distance. He likes that, less distance.

"There's this German-language poet, he's kinda famous-"

"Rilke?"

He laughs and glances over at Kate. "Wow. I keep forgetting you read!"

Kate bumps her hip into his and narrows her eyes at him. "You know, the first time you told me that, it was amusing, Castle. The second time, yeah, okay, I get it. Now? Starting to sound less like a compliment and more like-"

"Okay, okay. Jeez. You just surprise me sometimes, Kate. And that *is* a compliment."

She rolls her eyes at him like she doesn't believe it. "What about Rilke?"

"Oh. Yeah." Castle shakes his head, squints in the fading light. A ripple of thunder shimmers through the air. "Anyway, he's one of Alexis's favorites-"

"Mine too," she says softly.

Castle looks over at her, truly surprised now. "Really?"

"Back. . .after," Kate says, brushing off his question with a gesture.

After. Oh. After her mom died. He knows that she used his own novels as a form of escapism, but he should've realized she read voraciously. "Weren't you studying literature. . .before?"

She gives him a brief head nod, suggesting that she's not comfortable talking about this. Sometimes she gets like this, unable to extricate the good memories from the tangle of tragedy. He lets it go for now.

"Well, Rilke has this great line about love."

"Oh, jeez, Castle. Really?" But he knows that she's just trying to alleviate her own serious mood.

"Come on-" he grunts, elbowing her away from his sweat-soaked tshirt, getting her in the ribs.

"All right. Lay it on me." She's rolling her eyes; he doesn't even have to look to know.

"It's in his book Letters to a Young Poet-"

"I've read that."

"It was a really helpful book for me, back when publishers were rejecting me left and right-"

"When were *you* ever rejected?" she snorts, pushing into him again. When has she started doing this? Knocking into him with her hip, her shoulder, pushing him around. Kinda funny, actually. He likes the sudden meeting of their bodies, brief and chaotic.

"At the beginning. Just like every other author. Rejections are brutal."

"Aw, poor baby-"

"Yeah, I know. So sad for me."

She quirks her eyebrows at him and he grins back.

"So he says in this book, in one of his letters, some really interesting things about love, about how women and men are different, and about marriage. Sometimes I'm not sure if he's feminist or what, but the point is, he has this whole letter about love, about the right way to love."

"I remember it."

"You do?" Castle glances over at her, tugs on her hand to get her to slow down a little bit. Kate gives him a look of her eyes; she's more serious than he meant for this to get. "How much of his book do you remember?"

"I remember a lot of it. He says young people err at love."

"He does." Looks like Kate took Rilke to heart as well, which makes him love her more than he can possibly understand. She's read Rilke. She's read Rilke and loved it, and he loves her for it.

Kate lets go of his hand to walk around a mailbox, pushed by the crowd, but reclaims it when she finds his way back to his side. "He says that they fling themselves at each other, and scatter, and lose themselves for the sake of the other. He thought that was wrong, and felt that it would soon fall away with the modern age. I can't recall the exact quote, but-"

"I can," he says, giving her a glimpse of a grin. "He says that some day, he sees a shining of it on the horizon, a glimmer of this some day. . .some day there will be women whose names don't mean the opposite of masculine, but their names mean something in and of themselves, something that makes one think, not of a helpmate or limitations, but of life and existence. The feminine."

"Yes," she says softly, and her footsteps slow again. "And the rest?"

Castle clears his throat and stops at the crosswalk, watching her. "He says that this will change how men and women love each other."

She nods once, then quotes, "'Love that consists in this: that two solitudes protect and border and salute each other.'"

Castle keeps his mouth shut, lets that statement echo against the traffic in front of them, resonate along the concrete and sidewalk and buildings. _Two solitudes_.

The light changes and they cross; Kate has pressed closer to him, and when the crowd around them thins, she cradles his hand in hers, presses it against her chest.

She takes a breath. "'Do not be frightened, if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen-'" She chokes on it, falters.

Castle sighs, finishes it as best he can remember. "Don't think that life has forgotten you. Instead it holds you in its hands; it will not let you fall." Castle brings her fingers to his lips and presses his mouth against them, watching her. "Looks like you read more than mystery novels after your mom died."

She nods again. Castle keeps them walking, slower now, his tshirt sticking to his back. He's itchy, but certain that this is a conversation unlike any other he's had with her before.

He recalls the rest of Rilke's letter. "He talks there about not shutting life out. About letting life be painful and anguished and agitated because you know that it's working on you, working for good, that it's progress towards where you want to be in life."

Kate nods again, then looks over at him, everything in her eyes. "Rilke meant a lot to me. He was big about having inner solitude, about listening to yourself to find the truth. He was willing to let pain transcend. That was appealing to me back. . .then. And this is where all that pain transcended to." She gestures between them with their clasped hands. "This was always where I wanted to be in life."

He smiles gently at her, almost afraid that all this emotion will scare her away. "Kate. You asked why I didn't tell you I wanted you there, at the publicity things."

"The splinter," she says softly. "Doing it my way."

"Yeah. I wanted you to do what you needed to do, Kate. Like Rilke said. Love isn't flinging yourself at the other person, forcing myself on you, dissolving our individual selves into the morass of confused communion. . .instead, love is two solitudes protecting, bordering, saluting each other."

Castle watches her as he talks, watches the way her eyes absorb what little light remains.

Then her brow furrows and she turns to look at him. "You've done good, Castle. Protecting. Bordering. Saluting." Her lips curl at the corners, like she might smile. "I didn't realize you were doing it, but you were. You always do. But sometimes, Castle, we've got to start letting you do it your way. Only fair."

He takes a relieved breath and smiles back at her. "You do the same for me, you know. Of course, I'm always going to be the kind of person who wants less solitude, not more, but you do the same for me. You let me be. . .the best me there is."

Kate stumbles beside him, pushes her forehead to his shoulder as if to hide, then laughs softly, moves away to rub his sweat off her skin, wrinkling her nose. "Sweaty."

"Sorry," he laughs. "Someone forced me to run three miles in the heat."

"Castle."

He's still grinning at her when she lifts up on tiptoes to press her mouth to his, all too briefly, but hot and intense in that small amount of time.

"'Life has not forgotten you; it will not let you fall,'" she says softly as she pulls away, pressing her lips together, then giving him a tender smile that burns all the way through him.

"I love you too," he says.


	56. Chapter 56

He jostles her all the way up the stairs, then ogles the smooth, hard velvet of her legs when she pulls ahead of him, reaching out to let his fingers trail down her calf. He can hear the catch in her even breathing when he does that. Of course, Castle is panting by the time they reach the second floor landing of his apartment building.

"This was so not a good idea, Detective," he wheezes, and leans over with his hands on his knees, making her stop as well.

Kate takes another couple steps back down to him; he can't see anything but her calves, and yet he knows that she's smirking. He can feel it.

"Looks like it was exactly the right idea, Castle. Man up."

He groans and lifts, his chest expanding to take in air, then gives her a narrow look and suddenly sprints past her.

Kate doesn't shriek, doesn't gasp in surprise, she just takes off after him, her shoes slapping each step as she gains on him. Castle strains, his knees popping as he shoves off against the stairs, trying to keep up his pace, trying to show her up, just this once.

He can feel her coming up behind him on the stairs as he eats up the landing with his stride, taking the turn to the last flight of stairs. They are both slowing down though, gravity doing a number on their energy, and he can feel her struggling to slip past him on the stairs. His bulk blocks the way, mostly, and he forces his knees to lift, to make it that last step up.

Castle lunges for the stair door, slapping it with his palm just as Kate reaches it.

"Ha!" he gasps, then crashes back against the wall to catch his breath. "I win."

She glares at him; she hates to be beaten, especially unfairly, but she's too winded to come up with a good rebuke either. He grins at her as he sucks in air like a flailing fish, leans his head back to the cinderblock wall of the stairwell.

Kate jerks open the door and heads out into the hallway of his apartment building, so Castle follows. His chest is tight as he forces his lungs to expand; there's a mean stitch in his side from all the water he drank before they started their walk back.

"You cheated," she says from ahead of him, taking limping steps down the hall. Rick hustles to come up beside her, his conscience pricked at the sight.

"You ok?"

"Ankle's twinged. It's fine."

"Doesn't look fine," he insists, putting a hand at her elbow, forgetting himself.

She shakes him off, of course, and pulls her key from the little pocket sewn into her waistband.

"Did it last night," she explains. "Then something funny on the stairs just now. Made itself known."

He doesn't say anything, but he makes a note to watch her later, see if it's really a twinge, or if it's something to push her about.

Kate opens up their front door and steps inside, a hand at her neck wiping at the sweat curling her hair; Castle is right behind her when Dashiell comes rocketing towards her, head down for his favorite greeting.

Castle catches Kate neatly as she's plowed backwards, an arm at her waist, even as he instinctively grabs for Dash. The boy butts Kate again, making happy, excited noises, and she holds him off as she tries to regain her balance. The three of them end up tangled together.

Once they manage to get past the threshold, Castle collars Dash and swings the boy into his arms, letting Kate get free and close the door behind them.

"Hey now, wild man." Dash wriggles in his arms, then stiffens dramatically when he puts a hand on Castle's sweaty shirt. "I'm sweaty. So is mommy. So calm down."

"Sutty." Dash wrinkles his nose and rears back in Castle's arms, trying to escape now, and Castle lets him down.

Kate is already heading for the shower, dropping a hand down to brush through Dashiell's hair as he paces her.

"Alexis?" Castle rounds into the living room to find her in the kitchen, sliding one foot along the floor. "What are you doing?"

The girl startles and flashes him a guilty look. "I spilled juice all in the floor. I'm trying to get up all the sticky stuff." She lifts her foot and Castle sees the wet paper towel just under her toes.

All right. "Leave it for now." Alexis can be a little OCD about cleaning. "Can you come get Dash while, uh. . .Kate and I shower?" He lifts his eyebrows at her.

Alexis blushes. "Ew. Dad."

He does her the courtesy of not grinning like a fool, but he knows it's probably there in his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," she mutters, and leaves the kitchen to follow him towards the bedroom.

"Dash!" Castle calls out. "Come play with Alexis."

Kate's pulled off her shirt and tennis shoes, but that's as far as she's made it. Instead, she's trying to put clothes back into the laundry hamper even as Dashiell yanks them out. Alexis clears her throat beside him and Kate turns.

"Oh good. You. Get him," she says, glaring at Castle.

Rick scoops up Dashiell, yanking a pair of underwear out of his hands and tossing them back towards Kate. Alexis looks somewhere between uncomfortable and amused, maybe because Kate is half undressed, but she reaches out for her brother without saying another word.

"Hey kiddo. Give us a few minutes to get clean, right? No more sweaty."

"Sutty," he repeats, and wrinkles his nose again, still squirming in Alexis's grip. "No, no, no. Down!"

"How about trains, bubba?" Alexis is already turning to leave, wrestling to get a good grip on him even as he tries to escape. "Stop, Dash. I'm gonna drop you and then Daddy'll really be mad at us both."

Castle shuts the door after her, wants to lock it but doesn't, and turns back to Kate. Still in her underwear, a little sweaty, her hair damp at her neck, now wriggling out of her shorts.

How quickly he wants her. Needs her. "Hey." His voice is gruff, and she spikes an eyebrow his way.

"What're you doing?" She gets a grip on her sports bra and tugs it over her head.

He's momentarily breathless, and it's not leftover from their sprint up the stairs. He takes a beat to recover, then tries to pass himself off as nonchalant. "I'm gonna take a shower. What're you doing?"

She throws her sports bra at his face and disappears into the bathroom.

* * *

><p>"I love the way you smell," she murmurs, barely aware she's even saying it out loud. Kate takes another deep breath: soap and Old Spice deodorant, a layer of skin oil fresh from that workout in the shower, and then the cologne or aftershave or whatever it is that's musky and faint and clings to his skin, and then to hers as well when she's this close.<p>

It gets her every time.

And why? It didn't use to. When she first met him, it's not like that Castle olfactory combination really knocked her out. She barely remembers noticing a smell at all, and yet, now he comes out of the shower, clean and spiky-haired, and her whole body responds.

Like she's not just been thoroughly had in the shower. Like she didn't just brush out her hair, put on clean clothes, and hear her son squawking in the living room.

Kate indulges and steps in closer to him, her feet between his, pressing her nose to his neck. Flat-footed, she's only four inches shorter than him, and she likes the curve of her body over his torso, the natural fit of her head against his shoulder. She takes another breath as his hands feather along her spine, afraid to be too bold. He's not wearing a shirt; he's very warm.

"You love the way I smell," he hums, nudging her cheek with his chin.

She's usually breaking off right about now, usually shutting it down, moving on. Why does she do that? Kate's not sure, only that it's been habit for so long now. Not against him, just against life in general. But Castle brought up Rilke, and the talk about letting life hold you, feeling the pain, living it. . .

Being a solitary person doesn't mean she can't stand here for a minute with her eyes closed, breathing him in.

Words are good. Words are necessary, a lot more necessary than she used to think, as it's become quite clear to her recently. But words are so inadequate to explain this, to describe this, to get it right. What she feels, how she feels, the way everything in her opens for him, like a night-blooming tuberose.

Kate lifts her eyes, finds him watching her with a peculiar look on his face. Almost like hesitation. She draws her hand up and wraps it around his neck, gives him a gentler kiss than the ones from their shower, lets tenderness creep in.

Castle makes her like this; Castle does this to her.

No. Not the truth. It's not Castle. It's what they have that does it. It's this life. Her family, her son, a baseball game, a race up the stairs, making love against the wall with the spray hitting him and goosebumps on her arms even as the heat builds. It's all of this that does this to her. This thing she's got and didn't ask for, this thing she's made, fought for, been given.

This is what makes her like this. An ouroboros, never-ending.

She traces the edge of his bottom lip with her tongue, draws back to breathe again, awash in the rich sensation of him: smell, taste, touch.

"This," she murmurs against his mouth.

Then his voice, like a rasping growl vibrating the air.

"This? Take *this* back off." He tugs at her jeans.

And she does, empowered by the urgency in his tone and helpless to the need in her own.


	57. Chapter 57

All of them drape the couch, momentarily still, while the television is on mute and the thunderstorm pounds fiercely against the building. Castle is at one end of the couch with Alexis curled into his side; Kate is lying down with her head in Rick's lap while Dashiell has come to rest with his cheek against her knees, his bottom towards her.

When another bolt of lightning splits the sky, Dash's whole body jerks in response, cringing into her. Kate wraps her fingers around his legs, slides her palms up until she can pat his back. "It's okay, baby."

Castle extends a hand towards them, but it falls short and lands on her waist. A quick brush of his fingers along her hipbone and then another explosive charge of thunder makes the windows rattle and Dashiell shriek.

"Wow," Alexis breathes.

Kate nudges Dash with her knee, pushing him up until the boy stops whimpering and finally twists his body around to crawl towards her for refuge. She opens her arms and lets him burrow into her side, pancaked between her and the back of the couch, his face buried in her ribs. Kate holds him close, presses her lips to the crown of his head, murmuring comfort.

The thunderstorm rages outside, dumping rain in waves across the concrete. The blue flickering of the television screen in the relative darkness of their apartment seems an eery counterpoint.

Castle turns it off; Kate can feel him lean his head back. Her body is pleasantly exhausted; the warmth her son at her side, his mouth against her ribs as he still lets out a cry whenever lightning fills the room or thunder booms. One of Castle's hands rests heavily on her shoulder, his fingers making patterns. She can hear Alexis texting on Castle's other side.

Something has clicked for her today, in a way it hasn't before._ Let life hold you up_. Maybe that's the thing. She's not just stoic-faced Kate, soldiering on. She's actually doing this, having fun doing this, loving doing this.

Getting pregnant kind of rushed them together, put them on a fast track. Honestly, if it had been with anyone else, things would've been quite different. It's like part of her already knew she was going to end up with Castle, one way or another, so she might as well give in. No use fighting it.

She still has the note he left her, propped up against her empty coffee mug on the bedside table. That was only the second time they'd been together, but just as intense, as shockingly lovely as before. But Castle left sometime in the night.

Kate smiles to herself, remembering. The slow tug of awareness, the heat of their bodies still vibrating in the sheets, the grey light of too-early a morning bathing her face. She heard the door click shut; that was it; and the lock turn.

She didn't have a moment of stinging abandonment, not even a thought of regret. She saw the folded note against her mug (when her mug was usually in the kitchen) and her name in cursive across it. Cursive. Sometimes he is such a girl.

She opened the note. _Alexis called; she's broken up with Ashley again and is on her way home. I stole your house key and I'll give it back to you at work today. Still. I wish I could've been here when you opened your eyes._

Maybe it was that moment. She's got that note in the box with her watch and weapon. She's kept it for some reason she never has been able to name. Maybe it was because that was when she accepted it, that morning, with the bed still warm with him and the sound of the door still echoing, and the certainty in her that he would be back, that he would always be back. That she wanted him back.

So when three months of making love actually did make. . .love (to be thoroughly cheesy now); when she got pregnant, she was horrified, scared, shocked, a little devastated, but she didn't, not once, think she wouldn't do this with him. Sure, being pregnant rushed things, hurried them up, was terribly inconvenient and stupid and not the plan, but it wasn't like they wouldn't have gotten here eventually. Together.

Now that they're already here, both of them are playing catch up, relationship-wise. It seems like Kate has figured something out today, this week, that she's not had the time to even think about, let alone make decisions about these last two years.

She likes it. Whatever it is. Straightening out her priorities, once and for all, and being able to actually find ways to make them rise to the top. Or just. . .allowing herself to love Castle like she has always, really, truly wanted to. With all of her silly, adoring self so long locked behind her mother's death, her police training, the ways of the world.

She's almost certain it can't last; bad habits are hard to break. But she'll revel in it while it lasts. And work at keeping it.

The thunderstorm tears open like the apocalypse outside, lightning and thunder in brilliant and auditory display, and simultaneously Kate yelps and jerks upright, holding Dashiell away from her, instinctively thumping his cheek.

"Dashiell! No biting!" Her son bursts into tears.

Castle lifts up, hands at her shoulders. "Did he bite you?" He reaches for Dash, brushing past her.

"He bit me!" Kate says, giving the boy to him with a frown and a wince at the sting in her side.

Castle cuddles the kid against his chest; Dashiell is still giving pitiful sobs that Kate feels no sympathy for. "It must've been the storm. Scared him."

"And so he *bit* me?" Kate says, raising an eyebrow. When Dashiell was breastfeeding, he'd often bite her instead of feed, and Kate had gotten mastitis twice before Martha Rodgers had given her some perfect advice. All she'd had to do was thump his cheek one time and Dashiell hadn't bitten her since.

Alexis is craning her neck to see her. "He bit you?"

Dash hasn't bittern her until *now* that is. Castle, still cuddling Dash, reaches over and tugs up her shirt; Kate lifts her arm and lets him get a good look, curious herself. She's bleeding from evenly spaced teeth marks high on her ribs. Six teeth on top, six teeth on bottom, each a nice little impression.

"He really bit you."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Yeah, he did. *I'm* not the one acting like a baby." Kate stands up and holds out her hands for Dash, staring Castle down. For a second, she's not sure that Castle is going to let him go, but then she's got him in her arms.

Dashiell cries harder, flinching as another crack of thunder breaks from the sky.

"What are you gonna do?"

"Tough love. Time to stop being so silly, Dashiell. It's just a summer storm. And heat lightning. It's outside, and it can't hurt you." Kate turns Dash so that he's facing out, unable to twist around in her arms and bury his face in her chest. Not that she'd let his mouth anywhere near her chest, thank you very much.

"Kate-" Castle starts.

"Hush, Castle," she warns, throwing him a look. "My son should not be biting me because he's afraid of thunder and lightning. That's ridiculous."

"But he's a baby-"

"He's nearly two. And he's not stupid," she counters and steps up to the living room windows. Dashiell is shrinking back in her arms. "See, baby? Safe. It's just rain. A lot of water. Like when Mommy or Daddy takes a shower."

He whimpers as a fork of lightning licks the sky, but fortunately there's no thunder accompaniment. Kate can still feel the pounding of her heart from the adrenaline dump of surprise and pain.

"God's just making it shower really hard," she says, reaching out a hand to press against the glass. "It cools things off, makes the grass and trees and flowers grow. God's watering the city. And we get to be safe up here, inside our apartment, where none of the lightning or thunder can get us."

Dashiell isn't cowering anymore, at least there's that. Alexis has come up beside her, so Kate knows for sure that Castle is sulking behind her somewhere, but she won't turn around and look. Now who's being the baby? Making his daughter play peacemaker.

"See, bubba?" Alexis says, reaching out to put her hand against the glass as well, another stroking his leg. "We're fine. Can't get us." She's silent for a minute, then lightning flares wildly right in front of them. Dashiell jerks.

"Don't worry. Can't get us," Kate repeats. "Just makes it bright."

Alexis steps closer. "When I was little, I used to think that God was taking photos of me. The lightning was like the camera's flash. I'd stand in the window and pose."

Kate throws her a smile, her lips curling at the mental picture of a little Alexis standing up in the windowseat of her father's office, thrilled by God's attention.

Thunder drags its chains from one end of the sky to the other and Dashiell flinches this time but doesn't turn his head. The loud crack at the end does make him gasp, but his eyes are still open.

"Still safe, aren't you? Nothing to be afraid of. See how pretty it is? The way the rain makes the trees so green." Kate lets her chin rest on top of his head, her side still stinging even now. Feels stiff too, like the blood has dried against her shirt.

As her own heart rate finally slows, she feels Dashiell growing less stiff in her arms. Kate sighs and glances over her shoulder, but Castle isn't in the living room any longer. She should apologize; she snapped at him.

Dashiell leans out from her arms and plants both hands on the glass, letting his face mash against the window, mouth open as well. Alexis laughs and Kate shakes her head, but lets him peer out at the sky.

"Pitty," Dash says, although he doesn't sound convinced.

Another tongue of lightning illuminates the room but Dashiell is now entranced rather than cowered. He wriggles to get closer to the window, and Kate obliges by stepping forward.

Suddenly, her shirt's being lifted, slowly, Castle easing it away from her side. She hisses a breath when he has to peel the shirt from her skin. Kate turns her head to look at him, letting the regret show in her eyes.

Castle's not looking at her though. He's got the antibiotic ointment in hand and squeezes the neosporin onto a finger, then gently spreads it along the teeth marks on her ribs. She feels the cold clear gel, the underlying warmth of his hand, but he's strangely distant from her, as if unwilling to step into her space.

She keeps her gaze on him until he does finally look at her. She lets out a breath to see the wound in his eyes, inexpertly hidden. "I'm sorry."

He gives her a quick nod. "Me too."

She'd like to touch him; she thinks he needs it. But her hands are filled with Dashiell's wriggling movements as he tries to make love to the glass. Alexis is softly oohing and ahhing over the storm with him, pointing at things across the horizon.

"I think it hurt my feelings," Kate says suddenly, wanting to undo that look in his eyes.

"What did?"

"Dashiell. Biting me. I think it hurt my feelings. And I took it out on you." Kate shakes her head and shifts, pulling away a little from the window and towards Castle even as he steps back as well. "Forgive me."

"Of course." And inherent in that is their promise of always. Like usual. But his eyes are back on the view from the window, his body chilled, too far.

She searches his eyes, but he still looks faintly removed, holding himself at an infinitesimal distance from her. She's always asked for that distance. Maybe not in so many words, but definitely in every gesture and habit and routine and roadblock she puts up. She needs it. Solitude. Protected solitude.

But today, it's unbearable. Because it's not protecting him at all; it's hurting him.

"Rick," she says softly, hoping she still remembers how to do it, how to invite him with her eyes, the tone of her voice.

Castle finally looks at her, but doesn't step closer. His face is a question.

She wants there to be no doubts. "Come here."

This time he does.

She meets him for a kiss, awkwardly twisted to meet him. She recognizes with a corner of her brain that Alexis is pulling Dashiell out of her arms so that she can cling to Castle, fiercely, stridently, up on her toes with need.

He breaks apart from her to catch his breath, his forehead against hers, and she feels his chuckle rumbling through his chest.

"Most definitely forgiven, Beckett."

She shivers.


	58. Chapter 58

"What are we doing for dinner?" Alexis asks, sliding her phone into her pocket as she finds Kate in the master bedroom.

Kate shoves the clean laundry into her top drawer, blushing at being caught out. Alexis doesn't seem to think anything is amiss though and plops down on the bed with her sunny smile.

"I don't cook. Ask your dad."

"He said to ask you what you wanted."

They share a grin. "All right. Well. What do *you* want, Allie?"

"Allie?" the girl asks, tilting her head, eyes narrowing.

"Trying it out. It's not Lexi. Or Al. Allie?"

"Huh."

"Don't like it?"

"Not. . ."

"Okay, then forget Allie. What do you want for dinner, then, Alexis?" Kate leans against the dresser, crossing her arms over her chest.

Alexis sighs and drops back against the bed, looking at the ceiling. "I don't know. We had lunch kinda late, so I'm not really hungry. Are you doing laundry?"

Kate glances back to the top drawer of her dresser, chews on her bottom lip. In the old days, Kate would have hidden the truth just because. But this is Alexis, her family, and what is she supposed to do? Lying about something like this, or keeping it a secret is stupid really.

Admit the painful facts.

"No, not doing laundry."

"Oh." Alexis's brow wrinkles as she sits up and glances to the dresser, then back to Kate. "Um."

"I was. . .they smell good. Like when my mom did laundry. And I. . ." Kate shrugs and turns back to the drawer, has to subdue the impulse to reach out and touch the dresser, caress it. "I like the way it smells."

"Oh," Alexis says again, this time softly. "Can I. . .can I smell it?"

Kate startles and looks back to the girl. "Uh. Yeah?"

Alexis gets off the bed and stands beside Kate, hesitating at the drawer. "You don't mind?"

"Alexis. It's laundry."

"But I mean. Because it's the same as your mom's. . .Dad says not to mess with you about it. . ." Alexis blushes like she's said something she shouldn't and ducks her head.

Kate rolls her eyes and yanks open the top drawer, pulling out the athletic socks she'd been sniffing earlier. Like glue. Sheesh, she really needs to get a handle on this. Waking Castle up just to ask him what detergent he used? It's just laundry. "I don't mind talking about my mom, Alexis. Really." Maybe that's something else she and Castle need to talk about.

Alexis takes the pair of socks from her and lifts it to her nose, her lashes obscuring her eyes. Kate waits a moment, finds herself anticipating Alexis's reaction a little too much, and forces herself to step back, act more nonchalant than she feels.

Alexis smiles and puts the socks back, then shuts the drawer, shrugging her shoulders. "Smells like laundry. I guess Dad did it?"

Kate shrugs. "I don't know. Could be. Or Linda."

"When Linda does it, it smells differently. So I know what you mean, about it smelling like. . .home. I guess. But those socks don't smell any different than how Dad usually does it."

Kate chews on her lip, feeling so stupidly grateful that Alexis is taking this seriously. Because really, it's just laundry. It's not the end of the world. And yet, it's so. . .vital to Kate that she figure this out. She nods back to the girl. "Maybe you're right. Except I think I'd have noticed before, right? This has been a recent change. I noticed it with the towels first."

"The towels. Dad did those last week. And I think the whites too. He did them back to back because he said he was running out of clean undershirts."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't cook, I don't do laundry either," Kate grins, sinking onto the bed. Alexis sits beside her.

"I didn't mean that you should be doing Dad's laundry-" Alexis starts anxiously.

Kate waves off her concern. "I'm teasing, Alexis. I don't care. I'm not good at the domestic stuff, and your dad knows that. Why do you think we have Linda anyway?"

Alexis smiles with her and gives Kate a spontaneous hug, startling the woman. Kate's almost too late to hug her back, but manages to get it in before Alexis leans away.

"So did you ask Dad about the laundry?"

"I did. He said he'd try to remember." Kate shrugs it off. She thought Castle understood, at the time, but it *was* early in the morning. And stuff has happened since then. She'll bring it up later.

"Did he forget?" Alexis asks, jumping up and heading for the door. "I can't believe he forgot! That's so rude."

"Wait. Alexis-"

But the girl has already left, heading out to find Castle, and Kate gets off the bed to follow her. It's not that important, or it really shouldn't be that important. Kate tries to head her off before she makes Castle feel guilty for not remembering.

Walking quickly through the living room, Kate spies Dashiell running his train along the coffee table as he watches a Baby Einstein video. He catches sight of her and gives her a toothy grin. "Momma!"

"Hey baby," she says, a little distracted, as she heads towards the kitchen.

Alexis is already accosting her father. "Kate says the laundry smells like her mom's used to. Why can't you tell her what you did to it?"

Castle, standing in the middle of the kitchen with the refrigerator door open, gives Aleixs, then Kate a bewildered look. "Why what?"

"Show Kate what you used for the towels. And the whites. It smells like her mom's laundry."

"It what?" Castle spins around to look at Kate, letting the fridge close. Then his face clears and he slaps a hand to his forehead. "Oh no! Kate. I totally forgot about that."

"It's okay," she starts, shaking her head at him.

"No, it's not! That's a really big deal. Let's go look right now." Castle grabs her hand and tugs her towards the laundry room just off the back hallway, his fingers lacing through hers.

It's kind of sweet, actually.

As soon as he opens the door, a wave of fabric softener and humidity hits her, wrapping her up in a tantalizing facsimile of her mother's laundry room. Close, so very close.

Kate closes her eyes for a second, then feels Alexis crowding into the room behind her. It's really only big enough for one person, but now all of them are huddled together in front of the washer and dryer.

The cabinets above the two machines hold all the cleaning supplies, while a small basket of what looks like Alexis's clothes are in the floor in front of the dryer.

"Okay, here's what we've got," Castle says.

She watches Castle pull down the Tide detergent which she knows her mother always used, but it's not just the detergent alone, she's discovered. Castle moves the spray-n-wash to one side and gets down the fabric softener. Spring something. She shakes her head. "That's not it. We always use that stuff."

It's so frustrating to be this close and yet still so far. She can still smell it in her nostrils like a phantom of her mother's laundry day.

Castle puts his hands on his hips and glances at the open cabinet, raking his eyes across the bottles and boxes in search of that elusive ingredient.

The door swings back a little and Alexis bumps into Kate, laughing. Kate twists around in the tight space to see Dashiell staring up at them, crowding in at his sister's feet.

"Momma?"

"Yeah, we're all in here, kiddo." She squats down and picks him up, her arm still aching from holding him all afternoon. "It's weird, I know."

"Eared?"

"Weird. Yeah."

Dashiell reaches out a hand and touches Kate's ear, then touches his own, making Alexis giggle. Kate grins and touches Dash's ear as well. "No baby, that's ear. Weird. Has a 'd' on the end. Means it's funny or strange."

"Tunny."

"Yeah."

Dash glances up at his father, holds his hands out to switch places. "Tunny, Daddy."

"Of course. Definitely funny." Castle takes him from Kate but twists around in the space, looking at the shelves again. "We're trying to solve a mystery."

Kate blinks. Then a grin stretches across her face. "Well, looking at it like that. . .establish the timeline, Castle."

He laughs and glances at her over his shoulder, turning to keep Dashiell from getting the blue windex he's reaching for.

"Timeline. Okay."

"The towels were what I noticed first," Kate starts.

"I did the towels just after Alexis got here with all of her laundry. I had to wait until she did her last load."

"No," Alexis says, shaking her head and moving past him to the dryer. "You got right in the middle of mine. It wasn't my last load. I had one more to do. I put *your* stuff in the dryer, even."

"Oh. Well." Castle shrugs, looks apologetic at Kate. "I folded it, at least. Doesn't help you much though."

She knows it's silly to feel so disappointed. She hopes that doesn't show on her face either.

"Oh wait," Alexis says softly, then opens the cabinet door above the dryer. "I used these. For the towels. I forgot. These are mine, and I just added it from habit."

Alexis pulls down a box of dryer sheets with a triumphant look and hands them to Kate.

Castle shifts next to her, his shoulder against hers. "Oh. You know what? I think there was a couple of those left in the dryer when I did the whites too. Cause when I folded them, they were stuck to your socks, Kate."

She almost can't bear to hope, but she holds the box to her nose, eyes closed (like that will help), and sniffs.

"Oh. This is it. Alexis." She opens her eyes, feeling silly and stupid, and so so relieved. So damn grateful.

Alexis throws her arms around Kate, and Kate can't help hugging her back, tightly.

"Mystery solved!"

"Alexis, this is. . ." Kate squeezes her harder, too overwhelmed to even feel ridiculous about it anymore. The box is nearly crunched in their embrace.

"I'm so glad I remembered that," Alexis says back, her arms just as tight around Kate.

"Good job, pumpkin." Castle wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses the top of Alexis's head. Dashiell gets jealous and swings out from his father's arms to kiss Alexis too, a loud, wet smack on her cheek.

The three of them laugh, and Kate breaks her hold on the girl, pausing to give her a kiss on the cheek as well. "Thank you."

Alexis's smile twitches. "Glad I could help. Mom." She blushes furiously even as she says it.

For the first time since Alexis started calling her that, Kate's chest tightens, her heart twists. For some reason, with the smell of her mother's laundry fresh in her lungs again, hearing herself be called mom just opens things up. Makes it real.

Castle gestures towards the door, starts pushing on them. "Let's get out of here. It's too small for all of us. Come on, come on."

Kate laughs, but she can tell that her voice is shaky, her throat closing up. She keeps a hand on Alexis, but pulls a dryer sheet out of the box before she can leave. She tucks it into her pocket and avoids Castle's eyes.

From his father's arms, Dashiell tries to lean back towards her, grunting with the effort.

Happy to have something to do, Kate takes him, hugging him hard.

"Mine," he says. "Mine, mine, mine."

"Not anymore," Kate says. "Not anymore."


	59. Chapter 59

I apologize for the lack of regular updates. I am on vacation and have been at the lake instead of writing. Please forgive me!

* * *

><p>"I don't know," Castle shrugs, glancing at the clock on the oven. "And it's getting late. So someone decide."<p>

"But you're the one who has to make it," Kate grumbles. "What if I wanted lobster and new potatoes and garden-fresh snap peas?"

"Within reason," he amends, rolling his eyes at her. "Don't be difficult."

"That's kinda what I'm all about, Castle."

Alexis snickers and hops up onto the barstool, helping Dashiell climb up in the seat next to hers. As soon as he gets there, Dash stands up to reach for the pots and pans hanging on their rack over the bar and immediately all three adults yell at him to sit down.

Dash sinks to his haunches, giving them a fierce pout. Kate circles the bar to press on his shoulders, forcing him down on his bottom in the chair.

"Quick, Castle. Dinner."

He sighs and goes back to staring into the fridge, which is where he was when Alexis came looking for him. Still a big, fat nothing. Two eggs. A handful of grape tomatoes. A carton of organic milk. Dash's apple juice. Raspberries. Raspberries? Where did those come from?

"Who bought raspberries?" he asks, turning with the carton in hand, sniffing it. "Oh. Ew. I didn't know fruit could rot like this."

"You bought those," Kate says. "Four weeks ago."

"Gross, Dad."

"Dose! Dose!" Dashiell chimes in, getting to his feet only to have Kate cut him off at the knees, toppling back to his seat.

"Yeah, yeah. It wasn't me though. I didn't buy these. I don't eat raspberries; they taste funny with all the rolly-ball thingies, like a cluster of grapes in one fruit, and that is just so not right, plus sometimes they're hairy-"

"No, you did," Kate interrupts. "You bought them because we were at the farmers' market downtown and the girl was going on and on about Storm Fall. Remember? And you just grabbed the first thing at hand to check out and get us out of there even though I was *trying* to get that big package of strawberries-"

"Oh. Yeah, yeah. I remember us fighting about the strawberries later. You didn't *tell* me you wanted strawberries. You just kept growling at me-"

"Blah, blah, blah. Who's right?" Kate smirks at him over Dash's head. "I'm right."

"Whatever."

"I didn't buy these; I don't eat raspberries-" she mimics.

Alexis laughs; Dashiell is squirming under Kate's hands.

"Hush," he says, holding his finger up to her. "I've got to figure out dinner. Stop distracting me."

"Right. You need ADD meds." Kate thumps Dashiell's ear as he gets to his feet again. "No, baby. I told you to sit down."

"Better listen to her, Dash. She's mean tonight." Castle stage whispers, tossing the raspberries into the trash. "Okay, executive decision. Let's go out for dinner."

"Out?" Dash says, bobbing under Kate's hand as he tries to stand again. He gets a tug on his ear from Kate, tilts his head with a shriek, and sits back down.

"You need to be good," Castle warns, pointing at him. "Got it, buddy? Good boy for dinner."

Dashiell responds with baby jabber that might be agreement, and Kate leans against the back of his stool, looking at Castle with a raised eyebrow.

"Where are we going, Daddy?" she says, drawing out his name as if she's teasing him.

He hesitates. Kate grins triumphantly, as if she's got him now, but Alexis jumps in with the save.

"Can we go to PBC?"

Kate swivels her head to look at Alexis, then back to Castle. He grins because he knows that she has no idea what that is. And will probably not really love it. It's somewhere on par with Nathan's Hot Dogs as far as healthiness goes, but it's a kid favorite. "Perfect. Perfect! Alexis, you are a genius."

"Eeee-nish!" Dashiell yells, grinning at all of them.

Alexis preens and leans over to talk to Dash. "Wanna go to PBC, bubba?"

"PBC!" Dashiell yells, slapping both palms on the bar with each letter.

And then he keeps drumming, chanting "PBC!"

"Wait." Kate holds up her hands, looking at Castle over the racket. "What's PBC?"

"Peanut Butter & Co. In Greenwich Village." Castle leans over and grabs one of Dash's hands. "Is this being good?"

Dashiell glares at him. Castle stares right back, slowly releases Dash's hand. The boy raises it as if he's going to smack the counter again, but Kate nudges his shoulder as if to remind him. Dash pauses, glances over his shoulder.

Kate then seems to realize what Castle's said and blinks up at him. "Peanut butter?"

"Ohhh, it's so good," Alexis breathes, jumping up from the barstool to clutch Kate's hand with both of hers. "Please, please, please."

"Hey now, I already said we could go!" Castle interjects, coming around the island to put his hands on his hips.

Alexis flicks a glance to him, then looks back at Kate. "Yeah, but. . .we all know who *really* has to say yes."

Kate bursts out into laughter, making Dashiell startle so bad in his chair (where he was again attempting to stand up since both parents were distracted), that he topples to the floor. Almost like in slow motion, a swan dive right over the edge. Castle, Alexis, and Kate all lunge for him, and Kate manages to break his fall as he goes down, but she can't hang on to him, and the boy hits the floor.

Alexis sucks in a breath. Kate is already next to him, easing Dashiell up, and Castle watches the boy warily, waiting for it.

Dash's mouth wavers, his eyes filling with tears, but no sound comes out of him.

Kate uses her thumb to pull down Dash's bottom lip, and Castle can see bright red welling up where he's bitten it.

"Hey buddy, that hurt?" Castle asks, studying him over Kate's shoulder.

"Hurt," he echoes, fat tears spilling onto his cheeks.

"That's what happens when you stand up in your chair," Kate says gently. "No standing in chairs, Dash."

"No, no," he agrees, blinking hard as he tries to keep from crying. He sniffles loudly and hiccups a sigh, but still hasn't started sobbing.

"You won't stand up anymore, will you, bubba?" Alexis gets down on her knees to give Dash a gentle hug, kissing his forehead when she pulls back.

Dashiell turns a trembling face to Kate, those crocodile tears still spilling out of his eyes, and lifts both hands to her. "Mom-ma. . ." he cries, his face twisting as he tries to hold it in.

Kate looks at him for a moment, Castle holding his breath because he has no idea what Kate's doing or why she doesn't just pick him up, and then she leans in and uses both thumbs to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

Why doesn't she just pick him up? Castle steps forward, intending to do just that, but Kate has shifted, unintentionally blocking his way. He straightens up, frowning at her back. At least he *thinks* it's not intentional.

"You going to be a good boy and sit in your chair at dinner?" Kate says, cradling Dash's face with her hands as she uses her thumbs to make those tears disappear even as they spill over, faster and faster.

Dashiell agrees with his jabbering baby talk, taking in another shuddering breath, and then Kate brings him into the refuge of her arms, picking him up with her as she stands.

Castle steps back so that she doesn't turn around into him, watching Dashiell hunch into Kate's chest, blinking with tears but still silent.

"Castle, get a teething ring?"

He nods and turns to the fridge, opening the freezer drawer and pulling out one of the blue teddy bear-shaped frozen teething rings. Castle hands it to Kate, and she holds it against Dash's bleeding lip.

He doesn't try to squirm away, which is a good indication of just how much he must have understood Kate's imprecation to be a good boy. She's murmuring to him, kissing the shell of his reddened ear as he lays against her chest, the tears starting to slow.

Castle sighs to himself. Sometimes he forgets that just because it's not *his* parenting method, it doesn't meant it's not still a good one. Kate does things differently than him, and yet it works just the same. The boy's not mistreated, or lacking affection from Kate. So he should really get a grip and let her do it how she likes.

He really should.

"PBC, then?" he says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "I think we could all use a Fluffernutter."

"No way! I want The Elvis!" Alexis says, cheerfully starting their age-old debate about which sandwich is better: the marshmallow creme and peanut butter, or the grilled peanut butter sandwich stuffed with bananas and honey.

"Ooh, remember last time?" Castle says, grinning at her as he starts herding everyone towards the living room.

"Last time? When?" Alexis grabs her phone from the bar and follows him.

"We went to that kids' bookstore with Dashiell and then got him Ants on a Log. That was so good." Castle takes his keys from the entry table, checks his back pocket for his wallet. Nope. In the bag. He digs it out of the baby bag, then loops it over his chest.

Alexis bounces a little on her toes. "I had a Bagel Nosh. That was good too. And there's the ice cream. . .oh Dad, can we get dessert too?"

Kate is watching them, looking both bewildered and amused, and Castle gives her a smile, knowing that he probably looks a little guilty.

He feels a little guilty for doubting her.

Kate shakes her head, swaying back and forth with Dash in her arms to comfort him. "Always an adventure with the Castles."

Alexis links arms with her father. "A peanut butter adventure."


	60. Chapter 60

When Alexis was little, she had a pretend world in which her father was the smiling king and she was the princess, all because of their last name. She's not sure why or how she got that into her head, but the idea of a kingdom never really left her.

Not even now. She knows better, because she's a college-aged woman, but she gets this sense when she's at home that they are well-protected within their borders, that her father still rides his white horse out over the drawbridge and slays dragons, that Alexis herself has royal blood and has been raised to rule all she surveys.

The Queen was always missing in her fantasies. Meredith was never her father's Queen, even though she's Alexis's mother; Gina was more like the King's advisor rather than a Queen. In her made-up stories, the Queen was a tragic figure, painfully separated from her King by the evil sorcerer, always longing for her husband, her home, but unable to defeat the magic that enslaved her. Often, Alexis imagined this unknown, fantasy Queen was her real mother, and she would come back some day to rule at her father's side.

The Queen was someone strong, someone regal, someone who wasn't a peer of the realm or a subject of the land, but a woman from far off, a woman of beauty and wisdom who had joined her lands to his, who was co-regent with him, but who'd been away for so long.

Even though Alexis is too old for make-believe, too old for magic, Alexis knows the Queen now. The Queen has come home.

Kate.

All of that: strong, regal, and exotic. Queen of Sheba and Cleopatra. Catherine the Great. Kate the Great.

Alexis grins from the backseat of the car, glancing out of the window as they crawl through NYC traffic. Dashiell whacks her on the shoulder to get her attention, babbling his made up words.

She glances over at her brother, his dark, curly hair starting to wilt as the evening goes on. She reaches out and brushes her hand through it, stroking his forehead. He ducks away from her hand.

"Is-sis," he complains, then sets into a heated rebuke in his own language, mimicking the tone and inflection of her father's whining.

She smiles at him, wondering if her father and Kate are going to give her another little brother or sister. Dashiell brings so much energy, so much excitement to their life. Hers, her family's, the kingdom.

He probably needs another little kid around, someone to take some of the attention off him, someone to boss around, someone to adore him as the big brother. Alexis has a sibling now, of course, but she grew up an only child, and she tries to be here enough so that Dash feels like a brother and not a kid she loves to baby-sit for. She tries to be here enough so that Dashiell thinks of her as his older sister, not an aunt that visits a lot.

When she was little, and building castles out of blankets and furniture, she wished with all her might for a brother or sister. Someone to share the royal duties, someone to conspire with, someone to explore with, someone to fill the castle.

Being the only one in your single parent's kingdom sometimes sucked. Of course, her life was mostly great. Her father is great, always was great, and their relationship is close. But that's because it had to be. With just the two of them, there wasn't much room to be away from each other.

She's grateful for Kate. For what Kate opens them to, what Kate brings with her, for the ways that Kate keeps her father from being just a character in a fairy tale. He'll always be the king of Alexis's made-up castle, but now, her father can be more than that.

How does Kate do that?

Alexis gives Dashiell back the sippy cup he dropped and strokes his hair again, despite her brother's shriek of disapproval and bird-like, chattering rebuke. She wonders if she'll ever be that to someone else, a partner.

She wasn't that to Ashley. Gina wasn't that to her father either. Is it hit or miss? Does it only happen rarely, and with luck? She's not even sure she can do it, can handle it. How do you maintain your own royalty while also making your significant other royal as well?

And she knows it sounds stupid, even in her head, but she can't put a better analogy on it, and she certainly can't explain it. What they are. How they are. She's never seen her father so in need of someone else, and yet, so complete alone. Complete alone because of Kate, out there, alone. Her father is at ease, even when he's hyper and childlike, because Kate loves him, and he loves her.

How does that work?

Ashley fed her cheesy movie lines like, 'You complete me.' Ashley kept asking her to let him in. But she doesn't want someone 'in' at all. She's not just some other half, waiting to be paired up. She's doesn't want to be someone's missing piece. She wants to be herself, alone, inviolate. Like Kate.

Like Kate with her father. Kate loves him; Alexis sees it everywhere, no question. Kate doesn't cling, and she doesn't fall all over her father; Kate doesn't giggle and make eyes, and she doesn't remake herself into some Stepford-Wife, Good-Housekeeping stereotype. Kate doesn't do those things, but she does love Alexis's father.

Alexis wants to find a road map or a recipe for that kind of thing. She wants to know how to make that happen, how to do it herself. Ashley makes her less, not more. And she makes Ashley less.

Made. That's over again. For good this time. And even though she did it herself, it still aches.

Okay, so maybe smoking pot and trying to show off at a party weren't the best ways to handle that ache, that cold realization that what she had might be as good as it's ever going to get. Smoking pot and getting in trouble at a party don't make that better, only worse.

Alexis doesn't like it, but this might not be in store for her, this kind of partnership. The plans she carefully laid out for her life never explicitly said she'd be married at the end of college, but she thinks now that maybe, in some corner of her heart, she expected it. She took it for granted that what she sees between her father and Kate is something easy to achieve, that it falls right into your lap when you're smart, and you've got your stuff together, and you love someone else.

It might not though. It hasn't, not with Ashley, not with anyone. Which means no family for her, because she just can't do husband and kids with someone who doesn't do for her what her dad clearly does for Kate, and vice versa.

Her father and Kate have kind of ruined Alexis for anything less than King and Queen of the Castle.

* * *

><p>Kate unbuckles Dashiell from his car seat, casting another furtive glance to Alexis. The girl was unusually quiet during the short drive over, and Kate thought she heard her sniffling to herself, but Alexis looks serene enough at the moment.<p>

Dashiell lunges out of the car seat, letting out a warning shriek that gives Kate just enough time to catch him. She blows out a shaky puff of air and scolds him for jumping as she slams the door shut.

Dash ignores her of course.

Alexis has linked arms with her father; Kate walks a few steps behind with the kid, thinking that maybe the girl needs a moment to be pressed against her father's side, being the sole focus of his attention.

She remembers what it's like to be just two, daughter and father, in a world built for a family. She remembers how insular that makes you, how close-knit.

Of course, it made Kate's father crack under the pressure, while Castle made it fun. He built an entire world for him and his daughter, for just the two of them, and Kate loves that about him. Loves him for it.

It was, quite honestly, the thing that kept her with him. When she discovered she was pregnant, it was Richard Castle the father that she loved enough, and knew would love the baby as well, that kept her in it. Kept her from running. It was Richard Castle the father that told her she could figure this out, she could make it work with him, if she gave it time.

She can't even remember now when she first saw that world, got a glimpse of the way it was with Castle and his daughter. But that was the thing that drew her to him, that made him real, different. That was the thing that softened Kate's heart in the beginning of their partnership, and then captured her heart when they moved into an entirely new partnership.

It's scary sometimes, now, to be one of the integral parts of that world-building. Scary being a family again, having those threads and cords looping around her, reeling her in, anchoring her in place, lashing her to the deck. She's more than just Kate. It's a responsibility and a joy, at the same time, and she doesn't exactly know how it happened.

Mostly it has to do with Castle. Of course. He built the world for Alexis, just the two of them; he rearranged that same world for Kate.

It makes her chest ache to think about it.

Castle holds open the door to PBC for them, smiling lazily as Alexis enters first; the trickle of air conditioning curls around Kate's feet as she stands in the threshold. Castle comes in behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder to nudge her forward, leaning over to look at the line in front of them.

"Should we wait it out?" he says, nodding his head towards the handful of people ahead of them.

Alexis turns back, her face expectant. "Oh please. I really want the Elvis, Dad. It's worth the wait."

Kate chews on the inside of her cheek, feeling ridiculous that tears have blocked her throat. Castle is looking at her for an okay, his eyebrows raised. He can evidently see the struggle on her face for control, because he steps in a little closer, like proximity can make her better.

It makes it worse, of course. It makes him so much more endearingly sweet, and tender, and charming. She laughs at her own stupid heart, her laughter coming out strangled, and leans her forehead against his shoulder, closing her eyes.

She can feel the anxiety coming off Alexis, the amused consternation from Castle, and the impatience to get down from Dash. But she just lets herself rest there a second, overwhelmed, before she gathers herself back together and straightens up.

"It's worth waiting for," she agrees, clearing her throat to keep from sounding choked up.

She's not. She's really not. She's fine.

But Castle's not dense. Not all the time anyway. He must catch a double meaning to her words (of course he does; Castle is always looking for an entendre in anything she says), because he leans in and brushes a quick, hot kiss to that spot below her ear.

"It really is worth the wait," he murmurs.


	61. Chapter 61

Castle watches Kate as she licks peanut butter from her thumb. Her eyes are no longer fathomless wells, but their natural brown. A hint of scheming humor rises to the surface. Her hair is falling over one eye even as she holds Dashiell into his seat with a hand.

Castle's inhaled his Fluffernutter in record time, so he stands up in the cramped dining space and lifts Dash out of the chair and into his lap. Kate throws him a grateful glance and pushes the boy's plate across the table towards them.

Dashiell wriggles in his father's lap and eagerly snatches one of the celery sticks slathered with peanut butter. He likes to play more than eat, but Castle tries to force feed him a bite now and then.

Kate's looked happy all night, and he takes that as a good sign. Alexis seems a little more settled tonight too, since the autopsy and their talk at lunch, and he's actually not too worried about her. She was working something out, it seems, and now it looks like she's figure out what she wants. He hopes that the viewing did her good in the long run. That reminds him.

"Hey Kate?"

She glances up at him, taking her eyes from her Johnny Appleseed: bagel with peanut butter, cream cheese, and sliced apples. It looks good. In fact, she looks a little ticked that he's called her attention away from it.

He grins. "Your dad called this afternoon, while you guys were with Lanie."

Alexis's eyes flicker to her father's, but she drops her gaze immediately, blushing. Kate makes a noise of inquisition as she takes another bite of her sandwich.

"When I told him where you were, he had a good long laugh," Castle adds, watching her for a reaction.

Kate grins around her sandwich. "I bet. I think I went ballistic when they did that to me. Sorry, Alexis. I promised I'd never do that to my kids, and yet. . ." Kate shrugs, giving Alexis a rueful look.

Castle has been Alexis's father her whole life, so he sees the spark of gratitude in his daughter's eyes, the surprised and amazed gratitude. All because Kate talks about Alexis like Alexis is her own kid. And he wishes she would stop being surprised about it.

"Anyway, I told him you had your cell phone on you, but-"

"Dad's not good with the cell phone thing. I mean, I don't think he gets it. That I've always got it with me, that I can answer it anywhere." Kate laughs, shaking her head. "He's not that old, right? I mean, he is a grandfather, okay, but all of the sudden, technology escapes him."

Castle laughs; he hears Alexis snorting into her milk next to him. "Yeah. I think your dad just didn't want to bother you."

"So he bothered you instead? What did he want?"

"Just to talk." Castle smiles at her, trying to resist the urge to tuck her hair back behind her ear. She doesn't like him doing that; he's learned the hard way. "He was mentioning something about his AA meeting-"

"Those are confidential," she frowns, tugging a slice of apple from her sandwich and crunching it.

"Wasn't inside the meeting, but out in the hallway. You know where the meeting is held?"

"Some church."

"West Park Pres."

"Oh," she says, giving him an odd look.

"His AA meeting is at two in the afternoon on Wednesday. He was telling me a funny story about a kid who ran out of one of the classrooms and bumped into him in the hallway. Reminded him of Dash."

Kate chews slowly on her slice of apple, then swallows. "Yeah?" She's eyeballing him; she knows there's something more to this.

Castle likes to build his stories slowly, prolong the suspense, but he thinks maybe he should just cut to the chase. "West Park has a Parents' Day Out program. Three days a week: Tuesday through Thursday. Your dad says the teachers are all really great; they do fun projects with the kids and stuff."

Kate drops her apple to the plate and stares at him.

"I think it's a good idea," Castle adds, plucking a raisin from the celery stick and popping it into Dash's mouth.

"Wait a minute," she says, holding up her hand. "My *dad* talked you into this?"

"Uh," Castle hedges, letting Dash lick peanut butter off of his thumb. "Yeah?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"More," Dashiell whines. Castle scoops out another raisin and feeds him again. The little teeth nibble at the fleshy part of his thumb.

Castle focuses on their conversation again. "He pointed out a few things. I just. . .I guess I had to hear it from someone else. Sorry?"

"Holy sh-" Kate censors herself with a wave of her hand, shaking her head at him. "Okay. I'm going to let that go for now. Did Dad say what we had to do to get Dash in?"

"Sounds like he talks to this one teacher a lot. Ms Kelly. She said it should be fairly easy to get Dashiell onto the list, and that we could set up a little tour right away. Since they're not a preschool, just a kind of daycare, they have less of a waiting list than you might think."

"Are you serious?" Kate's eyebrows raise, but she looks excited now rather than ticked at him. "We need to check this out. Soon. West End?"

"Your dad gave me their phone number. He got it from Ms Kelly. I get the feeling, Kate, that Ms Kelly has a kind of crush on your dad." He grins at her, expecting a grin in return, but Kate's face has dropped from excited to blank in seconds.

"What?" Kate leans back in her seat, looking blindsided. Castle takes a glance to Alexis for moral support, realizing that Kate's not so thrilled to hear this about her father.

"Feeling might be mutual. Your dad talked about her a lot."

"What?" Kate's voice is soft, hushed almost, like she's bewildered. Castle thinks it might be best to just lay it all out there, hope that she can process this now, away from her father, before Jim calls back.

"She's a widow too. Her husband died a few years ago. She's got three grandkids; she's a few years younger than your dad and is working at West End's program just to have something to do with her time. I think her youngest grandkid is in the four year old class there."

"Wait a second. Hold on," Kate says, throwing up both hands and then rubbing her temples. "How do you know all this? How does my dad know all this?"

"He's been talking with her for awhile now. Before and after meetings. At church on Sundays."

"My dad's been going to church?" Kate jerks her head up, something naked and fearful in her eyes. "Why didn't he tell me? Why is he going to church?"

Alexis glances back and forth between them, turns to her father with questions in her eyes. Castle doesn't have any answers for her though.

"Kate, you want to take that up with your dad, maybe you ought to do that. I guess he likes this lady. I guess he likes going to church; he seemed to be a part of their community. But the point is, because he's a member there, Dash gets priority on the waiting list."

"He's a *member* there?" Kate hisses.

"Hey. Back on topic here. Dashiell can get into preschool as soon as next semester. In fact, they also have a summer program that lasts for four weeks in late June. So your dad might've just solved our problem, what with his willy-nilly church-going self."

Yeah, she doesn't think he's funny. Castle winces at the look she throws him. Kate rubs a hand down her face, hiding her eyes for a second while Castle studies her, waiting for her anger to either reach its boiling point or for it to fade slowly. Either one is possible right now, though he's not exactly sure why.

Dashiell makes himself known again by banging a hand into Castle's glass of milk; the whole thing topples over, milk splashing Castle's arm, dripping into his lap. Castle jerks up, Dash firmly in his grip, and Alexis grabs napkins from the dispenser at their table to start mopping it up.

Kate is still hunched over the table, head in her hands. She doesn't seem to have noticed.

Castle grunts as the cold milk seeps through his jeans, sighs as Dashiell babbles apologies incessantly in his ear. Alexis rights the glass, leaves the napkins on the table as they soak up milk. Dash does at least look upset for spilling his father's milk, but Castle pats him on the back.

"Kate," Castle says, nudging her with his foot. She glances up at him, and he's surprised to see that she looks so lost, like a little girl. Has her father never expressed interest in another woman since her mother died?

Maybe not. Castle sighs, dumps Dashiell in Kate's lap so he can do some damage control with his pants. "Going to the bathroom to clean up."

Kate doesn't answer.


	62. Chapter 62

When they get home, Alexis pauses in the entryway as Kate drops her keys into the bowl. "Um. Can I talk to you?"

Castle pivots in the living room and looks back at them, but Alexis gives her father a look. Kate assumes this means it's a girl talk, and apparently Castle picks up on it as well, because he raises both hands.

"All right. I got it. Kate, want me to take him?"

Kate casts a look at Alexis, then regards the squirmy boy in her arms. She looks back to Castle. "Actually, I want you to write."

He raises an eyebrow, a look he's copied from her, and heads towards them. "I'll just start his bath, and then-"

"No. Castle." She takes a step back even though she doesn't mean to and gives Alexis another look. "Alexis, you don't mind if we talk and bathe the kid at the same time, do you?"

"No. That's fine. I don't mind." Alexis holds out her arms for Dashiell and he lunges for her, so Kate lets him go.

"Kate?" Castle says, hands on his hips now.

She waits until Alexis is unhooking the baby gate from the bottom of the stairs, and then Kate steps closer to Castle, this man who dropped an emotional bomb on her this evening over peanut butter sandwiches and doesn't seem to get it.

"I need you to write, Caste," she says again, because she can't figure out another way to say it. She needs another Nikki Heat book. She needs to read about the detective and her journalist partner so that she can figure out what the hell is going on with her lately, with them, with their family. And Castle puts all of it into the books, all of it, so eventually this will be there too.

"Uh. Okay, then. I'll go write." He's not wounded-looking yet, but she thinks it's not far off. Regardless, he brushes his lips across her cheek and heads for his study. "Game tomorrow afternoon."

"I remember," she says back.

He'll put tonight and this past week into the book; he'll write it out even though not even Castle understands it, not with his conscious mind. She'll read the story he's created and she'll know, she'll just know, what it is that she's been going through because of what Nikki goes through, what mental and physical traps he's got Nikki in.

And how is she supposed to explain that to him? To the author of these novels who insists, every time she brings it up, that Nikki Heat isn't Kate Beckett? All those stories she's told, all the details about the precinct, the steps to solving a crime, all the nuances of Kate Beckett are put into the fabric of Nikki Heat. Every Nikki Heat book has been a veritable love letter to herself, to Kate Beckett, and why he doesn't see it, she'll never understand.

When she's struggling with this thing between them, with herself and her place in this family or this world, she reads his books because in those pages, she finds the threads of his love for her, the way he adores her, the intricate and intimate details of a life he spins out for her, even if Jameson Rook can't do the same for Nikki. In the midst of a clever detective story, an ode to Kate Beckett weaves its way through the words.

In those first few Heat novels, when Castle couldn't figure out how to let her know he loved her, or how to be a man she could love, in those novels, Kate Beckett can rediscover all the ways he paid attention, the ways he showed up, the ways he studied her and knew her unlike any other. Castle writes his heart out onto the page, and Kate feels stronger, better for reading it.

Being known helps. Being loved for all he knows about her, despite all he knows about her, because of all he knows about her. . .

If he's writing, then Kate knows she'll eventually figure things out.

He saves his best words for her.

* * *

><p>Alexis has the bath mostly ready and Dashiell out of his clothes by the time Kate gets upstairs. She tosses the dirty clothes over the railing so she can throw them in the laundry room later, then kneels down to test the water with her wrist.<p>

Dash is leaning against the tub, stark naked, throwing his toys into the bath one by one. Alexis is handing him a blue rubber duck with a Santa hat on its head when Kate pulls the soap off the side of the tub.

"Hey, buddy, want to have bubbles too?"

Dashiell shrieks and claps his hands together. "Bubbas, bubbas!"

Alexis giggles; Kate begins to add bubble bath to the water as it thunders from the faucet.

"Oh my word, I wonder if Dash thinks I'm calling him Bubbles when I say Bubba?"

Kate grins back at her. "Wouldn't that be funny? Give the kid a complex, no doubt. But what did you want to talk to me about, Alexis?"

She adds another squirt of Mr. Bubbles and sets the bottle back on the ledge as the froth grows thicker. At her side, Dashiell tosses in a boat, a dinosaur, a foam letter A, and then the frog-shaped thermometer for the water temperature. Dash broke it long ago, so it doesn't work, but he still likes to play with it.

"Um, it's about Ashley," Alexis says finally, handing Dashiell another from his mesh bag of tub toys.

Kate smiles at her, relieved. A talk about Ashley she can totally deal with. "Shoot."

"He's been texting me all night."

"Oh," Kate says, frowning. Dashiell peers into the myriad bubbles now nearly even with the side of the tub as Kate turns the faucet off. "Ready, wild man?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" he shrieks and does a little two-foot jump that knocks into Kate. She catches herself against the side of the tub, probably bruising a rib, but lifts Dashiell over and into the bath. He sits down with a plop, splashing Kate and Alexis both, then laughs and starts hunting for his toys in the bubbles. He dredges up a water-gun fish from the bottom, creating a path through the bubbles.

"So he's been texting you. What's he saying?"

"Just, you know. All those break-up questions. I just. I wonder if I should be texting him back all the time or just ignoring him."

Kate has always been one to advocate a clean break. And denial. And ignoring the other person. But living with Castle has definitely taught her that's not always healthy.

"Well, what's he asking?"

"Why I broke up with him. Is it him. Did he do something. Why don't I talk to him anymore. He can change, he can be a better boyfriend. Won't I give him a chance."

"That sounds. . .clingy." Kate scoops water into a plastic cup and taps on Dashiell's forehead. He obediently tilts his head back so that Kate can pour it over his hair. Of course, like always, Dashiell jerks his head back up as soon as the water hits his hair, and bubbles run in his eyes.

Alexis already has a washcloth in hand, and she lifts onto her knees to rub the soap and water out of Dash's face. "It's not that bad, really."

"Keep your head back, baby," Kate says absent-mindedly, still watching Alexis. "Does he demand answers, or is it more like conversation?"

"Conversation. For sure. I mean, he texted and asked if we could still be friends, and I want to be friends. And Ashley seemed okay for awhile."

"It's been how long since you broke up with him?" Kate dumps another cupful of warm water over Dash's head, using her other hand as a breakwall to keep the water from sloshing down into his face. He tries to jerk forward, but she's got him restrained by her hand and Dash ends up just sliding backwards in the tub instead.

"Little over a week."

"I think maybe what he really needs is some time apart, Alexis. Talking to you all the time just makes it worse."

"Like a clean break, you mean."

"Yeah. But you know me, I'm bad about wanting to just end it, walk away. I'd rather do damage now and let time heal all wounds." Kate bites her lip and gives Alexis an honest shrug of her shoulders before reaching for the tear-free baby shampoo.

"But I do love him, you know? I don't want him to be hurt. Or confused. Or damaged. I want to explain so that he understands why we're both better off if we're not together."

Kate sighs. "Alexis, I don't think you're going to be able to convince him of that." She stops and watches Dashiell putting his face into the water to gather bubbles on his chin and nose. Something twists in her chest. "When I told your father we couldn't be together, do you think he listened to me? Do you think he believed me?"

Alexis gives a little noise of surprise, and Kate feels she owes it to the girl to turn and meet her eyes. But not for long.

"I didn't. . .when did you tell Dad that?"

Kate looks back to Dash, starts lathering shampoo through his curly hair, using her fingers to work at the tangles gently. "Lots of times. Before I knew I was pregnant. After I knew I was pregnant. Once right after Dash was born." She gives a hollow laugh and frowns without really seeing. "Haven't said that recently, though who knows? I tend to be stupid when it comes to holding on to the things I love."

Kate hears Alexis sigh and then feels the girl's cheek against her shoulder, her arms around Kate's shoulders. "I'm glad Dad didn't believe you."

Kate dips her hands into the water to rinse the soap off them, then turns and gives Alexis a damp hug back. "Me too."

"Maybe I should ask Dad what to say to Ashley?"

"Good idea. Then I think you should have a really long phone conversation with that boy. Once you're done, tell him no communication for a month or so. Let him learn how to live without you, how to heal."

Alexis shivers. "That sounds so lonely."

"It is. But it's got to be done. For his sake."

Kate feels the girl's eyes on her, but she's not sure she's ready to explain how she knows that, or why she knows that, not sure she's ready to explain how a summer apart can put callouses on a heart, can let the scar tissue build up over the worst of those wounds. The girl doesn't needs to hear how her dad once broke Kate's heart. Conversation for another day.

"All right, Dash. Tilt your head back so I can rinse out your hair," she says instead and taps the boy's forehead. "Gotta stay there, buddy. Stay right here so it doesn't get soap in your eyes."

Alexis is quiet beside her as Kate tilts the cup over his hair. Again Dashiell jerk his head up, causing water to run down into his eyes, sputtering and blinking with wet lashes. Alexis is there with the washcloth, and Kate shakes her head at the boy's refusal to listen, to just stay in the position she's put him in, to trust her.

Although, she feels exactly the same tonight. Surprised and sputtering, water streaming down her face, wondering how her parent could betray her.

Who's being the child here?

* * *

><p>Struggling in the dark with a boy who doesn't want to give it up and go to sleep, Kate also struggles with her father's sudden paradigm shift, dropped on her like it's nothing, like it's been gradual and inevitable. She struggles with how he could casually mention to Castle that he's been talking with a woman, that he might like her, that he's been going to church, but never mention these things to Kate.<p>

She wants to call him back and have a good, long shouting match over it. She wants to argue with him, fight it out. But she can't.

Her father is in Alaska with his brother on his annual fishing adventure. He has waders, poles, lures; he rides a mail train into the dark country where not even a station platform exists to receive them. He and Uncle Dave get dropped off in the middle of nowhere to trek through woodland timber for an hour or so before arriving at a beast of a river to slip silently in and flyfish. Jim Beckett calls when he gets to civilization because, even though he has a cell phone, the towers don't carry a signal out there on these wilderness rivers, and it wouldn't occur to her father to try a phone call anywhere other than a place that already has phones.

When he calls, he likes to ramble a bit, no matter who answers. Alexis has been held captive on the phone for an hour listening to one of Jim' stories. Kate hasn't heard his voice in over a week, and she's disappointed she missed his call, but she's stung by the amount of time that has passed between what she knows of her father and what he has apparently been able to accomplish without her knowing.

Kate hums a little and rocks Dashiell on her feet; the boy would protest with a fit of crying if she sat down in the rocker. But when she spins a little on her feet, his body gets heavier and heavier as he loses the fight against sleep.

Her father's AA meetings have been a solid routine for the last ten years or so, and she's grateful to the West Park church for hosting them, but she feels like West Park has suddenly stolen her father from her. She feels like Kelly has stolen her father, sneaking around while Kate knew nothing about it.

And all this time, has he been going to mass, or worship service, or whatever it is they call it? Has he sat with Kelly and her grandkids and said the prayers to a God he gave up on?

When Kate was raw and grief-stricken, when she was at her mother's funeral and silently reciting The Twenty-Third Psalm along with the priest who officiated the lowering of the coffin into the open maw of the earth, her father had calmly taken her hand and spoken, low enough that only she could hear, "God is dead."

God is dead.

As if he were comforting her. As if he were letting her in on some big secret. And Kate, already brittle and breaking, had believed him.

And now what? God is alive again? He's been resuscitated by the power of AA meetings and Kelly's friendly banter? The resurrection of God performed by Wednesday confessionals and Sunday morning pew-warming?

Kate can't do it. She can't believe her father has done it. She can't believe her father has done it and kept this from her for all this time, and yet reveals it to Castle like it's nothing.

She wants to run. Her heart is pounding in her chest even as she tries to work through this in her head.

Like her father didn't insist, for many years, that this thing called faith was only at her mother's insistence, and only because her mother obviously didn't know better, and if her mother had known what was to befall her one night in an alley, then her mother surely would have renounced God as well, just as the other two had done in quick succession.

First her father, then Kate.

"Oh, baby, just sleep," she whispers into the dark, still swaying back and forth with Dashiell in her arms. The boy's clean scent envelops her, steadies the racing of her heart, and she presses her cheek into the top of his head. "Just give it up. Why do you fight it?"

She kisses his temple, the soft and round edge of his skin over his skull, kisses the curling hair at his crown. Dash rubs his face into her chest, worms his arms between them, shudders on a long breath, but twists again, still not willing to sleep, making mewling noises as he struggles.

"You're so tired, buddy," she whispers, turning in a quick, tight circle to give his body some drag. He sinks into her, momentarily stunned by centrifugal force, but the instant she has to stop (or else get dizzy), he's lifting his head again and squirming against her. "Just stop fighting it, sweetheart. Just sleep. It's good for you. You'll feel so much better in the morning."

Kate knows that he struggles so hard because he thinks he's going to miss out on all the fun while he's asleep. She's got the room dark, the door closed; Alexis and Castle are careful not to make any sounds so that Dash won't think something's going on. They all know he'd be better off asleep, that nothing good comes from fighting it.

Dash grunts and roots his chin around in her clavicle, making pitiful cries, but his legs are dangling now, no longer trying to push himself up and away from her, no longer using her ribs as a ladder to get away from sleep. Kate bounces him up and down now, pacing the room as she does, and feels his body buckling.

When his head comes down against her chest and stays, she knows she's got him. Finally.

_Give it up. Why do you fight it?_

She sighs, eases carefully into the rocking chair. Dash squirms half-heartedly but doesn't raise his head, and Kate tips back in the chair, using her foot to rock. She lets her aching arms ease, lets her head tilt back. Closes her eyes.

She and Dashiell are just alike. Fighting against the things they need, the things that are healing, that are good for them.

_Just give it up, baby. Just let go_.

But she doesn't want to. She's afraid that she'll stop fighting it and she'll miss something; she'll forget. She's afraid that if she stops, if she doesn't try to bring justice to her mother's killer, she will eventually stop caring about justice at all.


	63. Chapter 63

"You got him to sleep?" Castle asks as Kate enters the study. She still looks washed out, but he's carefully avoiding that.

"He's down," she confirms, nodding as she sits in the chair across from his, pulling her feet up, resting her chin on her knees. "Who knows for how long though."

He wants to ask about Alexis, but he won't. If it's important, she'll share it with him. "You good?" he says finally, saving the document on his laptop so he can focus on her.

Kate closes her eyes, letting out a long breath. "I'm okay."

Well, that's an honest answer. She doesn't offer anything more, and he doesn't expect her to either. He's happy that she's seeking him out at all. Usually, she'd be off on a fifteen mile run or a session with the punching bag. This is different. He's not sure how well it will work for her though, when she's the type to beat her frustrations or anxieties into submission.

She stares past him, maybe out the window, but she doesn't seem to be seeing. Castle waits a moment, then goes back to his laptop, reading through the last few sentences. He's spent the past hour writing out the scene from PBC, the way her face went flat when he told her what her father had said, the feel of the table under his fingers, the hard edge of the chair digging into the back of his thigh.

Of course, he never would have tossed it out there if he'd realized. "I thought you'd talked to your dad about it," he says finally, feeling like he needs to apologize.

It seems to take an effort of will for her to focus on him. When she does, Castle manages to catch the flicker of hurt that chases across her eyes.

"No. First I heard of it."

He's not sure what has her more upset, the idea that her father is looking at another woman, or the fact that her father is attending church services. He's not going to bulldoze his way through either of those barbed-wire-conversations, but if she brings them up, he'll attempt it. He really will. Even though he knows it's a bad idea.

Castle waits, but she says nothing else. This has *got* to be one of those splinter moments when it's best to let it work its way out. If he goes picking at this thing, it's going to get nasty.

"Are you good with Monday?" he says, rewriting a sentence on his laptop, adding a comma and a phrase to that last thought. He wants to get the tone and texture of their dinner tonight down on the page so that he can use it for a particularly heartfelt scene between Rook and Nikki. He knows exactly what Rook will say to put his foot in his mouth. "Kate? Monday?"

"Hm?" she says.

When he looks up from his computer screen, she's biting her lower lip, staring dazedly at her fingernail as she worries at the arm of the chair.

Castle saves his file and then sets the laptop down on the ottoman, then leans forward with his elbows on his knees to really study her. "Kate. I wouldn't have teased you about it, if I'd known."

Her eyes track slowly to his face. The moment that she meets his gaze, he sees the raw edge of her grief flash across her countenance before she manages to subdue it. "I know." Her voice is hoarse, like she's been shouting, but it's just the way the grief has caught her unexpectedly. He's heard it before; he hates to hear it again.

He waits, thinking there's more, because he *so* isn't going to start this conversation. He's not going to open it up; he's not going to force it.

Kate returns to picking at the chair, her knees just under her chin, her back bowed against the leather. Castle watches her for a second, then tries distracting her once more.

"On Monday, Kate, we can walk through West Park with Dashiell. See how we like it. Since you're off until. . .Tuesday right?"

"Tuesday, yeah." She glances up at him and then nods, something clearing out of her eyes. "We can do that. How far along are you on the novel?"

"I'm very close to being done. The editors have already sent back corrections for the first thirteen chapters."

"That's good. Is that. . .on schedule?"

"It's close. It's really close, Kate. Thank you," he adds, leaning forward to capture her hand in his. He wants to help, wants to make it better, but she's never going to let him. And what else is he good for? He wants to hide her away, shelter her. It's never going to happen. He's got to figure out a way to give that up. They've already had that argument, haven't they? Just. . .last night actually. She doesn't ever want to depend on someone, and he just wants to have her depend on him.

Ha. He's asking for heartbreak. "Seriously. Thank you for this."

Kate gives him only a faint smile, but her eyes do meet his. "It's not as selfless as it sounds," she murmurs. "I need you to write too."

He gives her a little quirk of a smile, not sure he understands. "I knew it. You just love me for my money."

She doesn't laugh.

"Ooh, too soon?" He squeezes her hand and tries humor again, hoping to see that spark back in her eyes, the traces of amusement. "You did *just* agree to use the debit card, so maybe I should-"

"Shut up, Castle," she says, but he does see a little flicker of a smile haunt her eyes.

"Shutting up, Kate," he replies softly, letting his grin live in his eyes.

She keeps that connection for a long time, as if she's drawing something from it, and he squeezes her hand harder.

"It's better when you can write," she says, then shrugs. He doesn't understand, and maybe she's not willing to explain it, but he wants to know, wants to figure her out.

"You mean I'm not so nice when I'm not able to write?"

She tilts her head at him, then slides her feet down to the floor. "I mean. . ."

Castle waits, but she can't seem to find the words. "You mean?"

But she doesn't respond. She seems to be studying him, her eyes traveling from the slash of his eyebrows to the jut of his chin as if she's searching for something. He hopes she finds it.

"I want to read something," she says instead, leaning forward a little to look intently at him. "Can you write me something? Not for the book, not Nikki. Just. Anything?"

Castle sits back, a little panicked, a little thrilled, trying not to let it show on his face how big a deal this is for him. He has whole entire books he wants to write for her, poems and stories and scenes and fantasies. He doesn't know where to start. He wants to give her back the words she gives him.

"Never mind," she says hurriedly, drawing her knees back up to her chest.

"No. Not never mind. I want to. I have a lot of ideas. What do you want to read?" he says eagerly, sitting forward more to close the distance between them.

She shakes her head. "Castle. I don't-it was just. . .stupid. I don't need you to write-"

"No, please don't, Kate." He really, really wants to touch her, wants to wrap her up in his arms and have her curl against his chest, as if for protection. But that will never be Kate. "I'm going to write you something. Not Nikki Heat."

"Fiction," she says suddenly, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Fiction then," he agrees. He's written her poems before; poems he's kept on his hard drive in a folder labeled "post" because they're like love letters he's never had the courage to actually mail her. Not that he's going to show them to her now, not at all; the poems themselves are pretty crap. He wouldn't do that to her.

But a story. He can do that.

Kate unfolds from the chair and browses the shelves just behind his desk. He watches her run her fingers over the titles of his novels, his guts clenching at the way she caresses them. Her hair is caught up in a loose bun, probably to keep it out of her way as she bathed their son, and her eyes are scrubbed clean of makeup, making her look too young, too easily bruised.

She has a strange light in her face too, that makes him remember her earlier statement: _I need you to write._

Maybe she does. Maybe it's true that she needs him to write. When she was pregnant, she spent a lot of time reading his novels. He would find her curled up on her side with Heat Rises, just in the first chapter, looking a little lost and lonely. After a few chapters, she'd rejoin them in the kitchen for dinner (if she was home on time from the precinct), or she would come find him in the study with her game face on.

He never connected the dots before, hadn't thought it was his own words that made her feel better. He just assumed it was escapism, a way to get out of her own head for awhile, a way to forget that she was pregnant and halfway miserable and didn't want to be in his loft.

Maybe it's not escapism though. What would it be instead? And what is he going to write for her now? A story yes, but a love letter as well, of course; isn't all of it a love letter? Hasn't he written his love into every scene, from the first letter of the first book about Nikki Heat and on down? Wasn't Heat Rises entirely about how much he not only wants her, but needs her, in every fiber of his being?

Oh.

Is *that* why she reads them?

But Kate returns to his chair without a book, her hands finding his shoulders to push him back in the chair. He flops back with a huff and puts his hands on her waist as she hovers over him for a moment. Then she's kneeling on the chair, sinking back on her feet, and pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to his mouth, as if she's unsure of his reaction.

How could she ever be unsure? Castle kisses her back, tries to guide her hips closer to him, but instead of straddling his lap, she wriggles down next to him, slips her legs over one arm of the chair, her hands at his chest.

He breaks the kiss to look at her, surprised that she's initiated some kind of touch that isn't, at its core, sexual. She does, of course, hug him or take his hand if he needs it, but he can't remember the last time she's come to him just to touch, just for comfort.

Castle leaves a hand on her hip, smoothing his thumb along her waist, and wraps his other arm around her shoulders, loose, trying not to suffocate her with it. Kate leans her head against his shoulder, her hair tickling his mouth, and closes her eyes.

"I'm tired," she says suddenly, sighing.

"Yeah. It's late," he answers, even though it can't be much past nine. Castle squeezes her shoulder, drops a kiss to her forehead.

"That too," she says. And nothing more to explain it.

That's fine. Just that Kate has come into his study, seeking him when she's clearly troubled about her father's life, that Kate has come to him-

That's more than enough. More than he expected. And can it be true that Kate Beckett is looking to him for something? Needing him? Maybe that fight *was* good for them, maybe getting it out there worked.

He doesn't want to fail her now.

"I'll write you a story tomorrow morning," he says, his voice gruff with gratitude, letting his cheek fall to the crown of her head. "Tonight, let's get to bed early, get some sleep. We've got the baseball game tomorrow afternoon."

"Mm, sounds good," she says, her arms curled up between them so that she seems so much smaller. Kate Beckett is an amazon woman, but tonight, right now, she's his wife, his wife whose mother was taken from her, whose father nearly didn't make it, who has fought all of her adult life for a space free from grief only to have it crash back over her like a wave.

Writing her one little story isn't going to be enough; he's going to want to write all day, all the time, create worlds for her from his words.

"Ready for bed?" he asks, rubbing his hand up and down her back.

"Soon," she murmurs.

He stays in the chair, holding her loosely, rubbing the bristles from his five o'clock shadow across the top of her head. She doesn't do anything cute, of course; she's just still, and weary, and breathing slowly with her eyes closed. She doesn't snuggle or hum; she doesn't nuzzle him. No, that's all him; he's the one curled around her. But she not only stays, she rests there.

She rests against him.

Finally.


	64. Chapter 64

She fell asleep, apparently, because the next thing she knows, Castle is struggling to stand up and her inner ear begins to alarm as her body moves without her permission.

"Put me down," she grunts, unable to stop the panicked flailing of her arm as he shifts to his feet.

"Nope," he says. "I got you."

"No you don't," she insists, tugging one of her feet out so that she can slide down his front, her arms still looped around his neck. When she's upright again, she laughs at the look on his face. "You should've just woken me up."

"Trying to be chivalrous here. You kinda ruined it," he complains, poking her shoulder.

"You don't need to be chivalrous, Castle. You've got a bad back." She can't help the quirk of her lips as she says it, and Castle takes a threatening step towards her, his eyes narrowed.

"I think my manhood is being called into question here."

Kate smiles at this; the door he's left open is just too wide not to walk through. She brushes her hand against him and grins wider. "No question about your manhood here."

He laughs out loud and captures her wrist with his fingers. "It's not nice to tease, Detective Beckett." When he says it like that, it sounds so dirty. Like roleplay. And-

And suddenly, with the last fog of sleep burned away, Kate drops back into reality. She drops her hand and blinks, steps back as she remembers the night she's just had.

Castle doesn't follow, for which she's grateful. She presses a hand to her forehead and closes her eyes. "What am I going to say to my dad? He thinks he *likes* this woman?"

"Go for it?" he says.

She opens her eyes to glare at him.

"Kate. What else can you possibly say to him? Is it fair to say anything other than that?"

Her chest clenches like a fist, a crushing fist, and she drops back to the chair he's just vacated, her head in her hands. "I don't want to have this conversation."

"Fine. Let's just go to bed, Kate."

She jerks her head up. "Not you. I mean, with my father." She's mortified because she's about to cry and they haven't even begun to discuss this. And now she really doesn't want to. She wants to ignore it. A long time. Forever.

"Oh."

She gets back to her feet and reaches for his hand, squeezing it when his fingers slip into hers. "He's in Alaska. Fishing. He probably won't call for another couple days."

"You're off the hook then. For a few days."

She chews her lip. Castle is letting her off the hook too. He's fine with letting her say nothing, if she wants to keep saying nothing.

She has to think about that for a minute.

"Let's get ready for bed," she suggests, tugging him towards the door.

She feels him sigh as she leads them down the hall. The apartment is quiet; a lonely light has been turned on in the living room so she diverts them towards it. She releases his hand to cross the floor and turn it off. In the sudden plunge of near-total darkness, she finds it easier to speak.

"I don't know about Monday," she admits.

"Because Kelly is there?"

"Yes." Kate heads back down the hall towards the master bedroom. Just a week ago, she realizes she was still calling it his room. And now? Somehow, it feels more like her own.

That's her oversized chair in the corner, some of the stuffing gone out of the back so that it sags like an old woman. She smiles, reaching past the chair to turn off the reading lamp. The room is lit only by the dim light coming from the bathroom.

Castle brushes his hand along her shoulder as he moves to his side of the bed. She watches him for a second, gilded in the soft light, his shoulders broad and his chest narrowing to the jut of his hipbones, visible as he removes his shirt.

He jerks the jeans off his legs and tosses them towards the open closet door. Nowhere close to the laundry hamper, but she only rolls her eyes and gets out of her own clothes. As she changes into pajamas, she decides to follow his lead and simply chuck her clothes into the floor of the closet.

He laughs at her, giving her a look as she drops the oversized pajama shirt over her head. She shrugs in return; she doesn't care that he finds her lack of fastidiousness amusing. She's too worn out to mess with it, too wrung out to fight that battle tonight.

Castle looks like Dash though, when the boy gets away with something. Gleeful, a little unbelieving, a secret thrill like he could be caught at any moment. It makes her want to take him down a notch or two. She moves to his side of the bed to get to the bathroom to brush her teeth and takes a second to shove him towards the bed with a glare.

He laughs as he goes down, but bounces back up to follow her.

They brush teeth in silence, elbowing each other for room at her sink, Kate threatening to spit on the back of his neck when he dallies over the bowl. Castle finishes up before her, flicking water in her face, and she kicks the back of his knee as he turns to leave. Not hard. But his walk dips a little as his knee threatens to buckle; he growls at her as he heads for bed. She spits and rinses her mouth, goes to the bathroom, washes her hands.

She flips the light off as she leaves; it's pitch black in the room. She can see the faint green light of the baby monitor, and she's pleased he thought of it. Because she still feels like messing with him, Kate drops a knee to his side of the bed and crawls over him to get to her spot.

Castle captures her before she makes it, his arms twining around her waist and tugging her down. She lets her elbows bend, then drops down on him, making him oof with her weight.

Shirtless tonight. She brushes her cheek against his chest and feels the soft intake of his breath.

Kate rolls off of him but stays close, curling a leg up to touch her knee to his thigh. She's on her own pillow, but he's put it right next to his own again, so that she has to be close. She doesn't mind tonight. For some reason.

Castle stays on his back, which means he's not too tired to talk. If she wants. How she even knows this kind of mystifies her. Do other people know these things about their spouse? Or is it because she and Castle have been so delicate around each other, studying the signs, reading the signals, trying not to upset the balance.

She slides her hand up until she can feel Castle's shoulder under her fingers, then traces that to his neck, then to his other shoulder. She likes the steady rush of blood in his subclavian vein where the tender part of his neck meets his collarbone. She likes having her arm stretched out along the widest part of him.

"I don't know if I can do this."

Castle raises his left hand and covers hers lightly, rubbing his thumb along her skin. "I'm sure Kelly is a nice person."

"I can't even think about Kelly."

"Monday?"

"I know we should," she admits.

"We don't have to decide right this second. We don't have to even decide anything on Monday. Just look." Castle slides his hand between her elbow and her wrist, rubbing back and forth.

It's somehow comforting. Soothing. She relaxes a little, pushes her toes against his shin bone.

"Your toes are cold."

She curls them, pops the knuckles of her big toe against his shin. He chuckles. Kate still has her eyes open and she's slowly starting to gain her night vision. She can see the mountain range of his chin, mouth, nose, and brow rising in the dark like a landscape under the moon.

"Want my two cents on this, or should I shut up?" he says finally, turning his head to look at her.

"Two cents. I'm willing to go for a whole quarter."

"Leave the jokes to the writer. Especially this late at night."

"You're insufferable."

"Yet you suffer me with a great deal of skill." His hand squeezes around her elbow, runs back down to her wrist. He lifts her hand to kiss her palm, places it back on his chest. "Here's what I think. Ten cents version. I don't think you can handle a whole quarter."

She pushes at his chest with her fingers in mock outrage.

"Your dad loves you. He knows he dropped the ball at the beginning, after your mom was killed. He's going to do whatever you want him to, even if you don't ask, even if you just hint around it. He's going to bend over backwards to keep you happy, Kate."

She hears the warning in his words. "I know." She blinks fast to keep from crying. She hates crying when she's laying down; it makes her head hurt. "But. What if she takes him from my mom?"

"What does that even mean, Kate?" He whispers it, his fingers light against her hand, feather soft.

"I don't know," she says back, closing her eyes because Castle is looking at her in the darkness, too knowledgable, too aware. "What if she takes him from me and mom? From us."

He doesn't answer. She knows it's because her question is unfair; there is no us, no Kate and her mom unit in this life that her father could be pulled from. It's not like he's contemplating an affair.

"Do you think any woman could make your father love you less?" Castle says finally. "Because, as a father of a daughter, I'm going to tell you that's completely impossible."

She takes in a long breath and lets it out, opening her eyes again. "No. That's not quite it. The two of us, me and my dad, have been the. . .keepers of my mom. We don't hold a memorial service every year or anything, but we have each other as a reminder. With the investigation, all I need to do is call him and he knows. I just. I don't think I can have another person in on all of that. Someone else putting their sticky fingers all over my mom's case, butting in. Someone else who knows all those details about how it hurts, how it affects us."

Castle grunts in the darkness. "What exactly am I?"

"What?" She lifts her head, peering closer at him in the darkness.

"Isn't that what I did?"

"No." She draws back, frowning at him.

"Kate." She can hear the eye-roll in his voice and he doesn't eye-roll that often. She slides closer so she can see him more clearly.

Castle turns on his side to palm her cheek, rubbing his thumb along her lips. Sometimes she hates that, but tonight the touch isn't possessive, just compassionate.

"Kate. What could your father have felt about us? About me? I came lumbering into your mom's case, sticking my nose in it, and pissing you off, hurting you, and what did your dad say?"

"He said maybe you had resources. Maybe you were doing us a favor. He said to see where it goes, but don't let it swallow me up." She doesn't understand what one has to do with the other.

"And when you told him you were pregnant? When you married me?"

"I don't know what you mean." She doesn't exactly want to repeat the conversation she had with her father on that one. Yikes. Kate isn't too ashamed to admit that she acted like an idiot until her father knocked some sense into her, but she doesn't really want to dwell on it.

"Did he say that he couldn't share his wife's death with anyone else? Did he say there wasn't room for me, for the baby, in your two's private grief?"

She sucks in a painful breath and closes her eyes. "Of course not."

"But you're saying that now. About him. You want to tell him that when he calls? Hey Dad, there's no room in our grief for your happiness."

She has to remember to breathe; she pulls her arms up to her chest.

"Does he think you've moved on without him? Does he think you've betrayed your mother's memory by splitting your focus with a family? Or is that just what *you* think, Kate?"

She shivers and sits up in bed, drawing her arms around her knees. Kate blinks to get rid of the pressure in her eyes, presses her forehead down into her kneecaps. She feels Castle behind her, then his apologetic kiss against the exposed flesh at her shoulder.

Because of that, Kate lifts her hand and curls it around his neck. "I'm sorry."

"My fault. That was probably a dollar's worth of advice rather than two cents. Or the promised ten."

She huffs out a laugh and turns to wrap her arms around him, practically strangling his neck with her grip. He doesn't draw her closer, for which she's grateful, because she doesn't think she could do that right now.

But then Castle wrestles her back down on the bed, tugging her until she's against him. She fights it a few moments, clearing her throat of more unshed tears, but lets him press her cheek to his shoulder.

She sighs. "It might be true."

"What I said?"

"Yes."

"I thought so."

She's relieved not to hear sorrow in his voice. He's confident enough of her then. That's good. That makes this easier somehow. Kate lifts her head and kisses his cheek delicately.

"Roll over, Castle. Let it go for tonight."

"Don't stay up too late, thinking," he says, bringing a hand up quickly to snag the back of her neck, keeping her against him. Castle kisses her a little more thoroughly, temptingly, but she breaks the contact.

"I won't." She sees the resignation and the sliver of worry in his eyes. Kate pushes on his shoulder, scooting back a little. "Roll over." He sleeps on his side, not his back, and she needs to not have his eyes on her while she processes this. "Come on. I'll stay close."

Castle brushes a hand across her forehead, trails it down her nose. Brief. Light. Barely there. A kind of promise. Then he turns over, facing away from her, and she sees the sigh of his body as he lets go. Kate scoots closer, close enough that his body heat makes her too warm, close enough that she can bend her knee into the same degree as his, matching it.

She doesn't spoon, but she'll do this.

"Love you, Kate," he sighs.

"I know. I'm okay," she promises. She puts her hand out against his back, lets her palm soak up his warmth.

It's quite possible that she thinks every warm touch between them is a betrayal of her mother's memory. Every month without a solve on this case is because. . .

. . .is because she's happy.

Because she loves him.

And that's completely unfair.


	65. Chapter 65

He wakes when she comes back to bed. Castle isn't sure when she left, but she shushes him in the darkness and crawls to his side. She replaces the baby monitor at his bedside table, her arm across him, her body leaning against his, and he slides his hand back to brush his fingers along her thigh.

She kisses his temple. "Just Dash. Sleep, Rick."

He knows he murmurs something back to her, but he's already fading out.

* * *

><p>The funny thing is, the next time he wakes, Kate is awake and watching him. Like he usually does her.<p>

"Creeper," he mutters, blinking slowly in the muted morning light.

"Takes one to know one," she tosses off, spreading the fingers of one hand and combing them through his hair. "Morning, stud."

He chuckles but closes his eyes again, slow to wake, savoring the feel of her hand at his neck. "Save it."

"You ready to get up?"

"No. What time is it?" He feels the brush of her fingers along his jawline, her soft skin against his stubble.

She laughs low in her throat. "You don't want to know."

"Have you slept at all?"

"Some."

"Enough?"

"Almost," she says honestly. "I got Dash back to sleep, so I've probably got another two hours."

"Second time he woke tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Sleep, Kate." He cracks an eyelid and realizes she's still studying him. "What are you doing?"

She shrugs and slides down under the sheets beside him, lifting one of his arms and draping it over her shoulders, getting close.

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my wife?"

Kate glares at him. "Trying something new. Shut up and enjoy it. You're the snuggler."

He watches her a second, certain there's something else to it, but Kate purposefully closes her eyes and turns her back on him, pulling his arm with her. Castle chuckles and curls up around her, certain this can't last.

But she endures it. In fact, she really does seem to be falling back to sleep.

"Kate?"

"Hush, Castle. I'm trying to sleep." She elbows him in the solar plexus, establishing that she is not, in fact, a pod person. He's relieved.

Castle snakes an arm around her waist, slides a leg between hers, kisses the back of her neck.

Kate wriggles for a second, then slaps at his roaming hand. "Okay, enough. I'm done. Get off me."

He laughs out loud and rolls back over, closing his eyes. "I knew it."

Kate sighs.

He's just about to fall asleep when she says, "It's abnormal, isn't it?"

Castle can't follow the thread of conversation any longer; he's at the threshold of unconsciousness. "Yeah."

He feels the bed shake as she jerks up next to him. "What?"

A blurry alarm sounds in his head. "Huh?"

"Did you just agree with me?"

"Kate. Two hours. Shut up and go to sleep." He opens his eyes to glare at her, but something in the back of her eyes hits him hard. "Hey. Wait a second. Are you going to cry?"

"No," she snarls at him, flopping back over.

Works like a charm, every time. Except now he's not sure that's what she needed from him. Castle slides a little closer to her, rests a hand at the nape of her neck. "Hey."

"Let me sleep. Like you said, two hours."

He sighs. He was on top of things last night, but the early morning hours always make him stupid. He makes bad decisions in the morning.

"Did you wake me up so we could fight?" he says, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against her shoulder blade.

She's silent for a long time, but he knows she's there, awake. And then Kate reaches back and finds his arm, pulls it around her body. Castle sighs with relief and holds her, not too close, just enough.

* * *

><p>This time, he hears Dashiell before she does. His hand slaps at the baby monitor; it tumbles to the floor, and he curses before waking up completely.<p>

Kate is dead to the world next to him, mouth open. Castle leans over the side of the bed to scoop up the monitor, turns the volume down. When he drags himself out of bed, his knees buckle for a second before catching and holding.

Wow. He is having a hard time getting it together this morning. He closes both eyes, swaying next to the bed, then peels back an eyelid to look at the clock.

It's already eight a.m. Dashiell has woken twice, but he hopes this doesn't have to be it. Kate got how much sleep then? Not sure. Castle rubs a hand down his face and grabs his shirt from the chair, pulls it on. He tries to wake up as he walks out into the hall.

He can hear Dash yelling for mommy when he gets to the living room. It's probably woken Alexis. Castle gives a jaw-cracking yawn and winces at the bright light streaming in the living room windows.

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs and heads back towards the blinds. He twists them all closed, thinking about Dash's petulance in the sunlight. If he wants to get the kid back to sleep, then it's got to be pretty dark in the apartment. He can hear the boy's shrieks increase in volume and then drop off; the click of a door.

Alexis. Crap, he forgot. Castle runs up the stairs at a steady clip, rounds the hallway, and opens Dash's door.

Alexis is standing in the middle of Dash's room, shushing him with her lips against his temple, holding him close. It's sweet, and his heart clenches as she turns and sees him.

"Hey, here's Dad." Alexis steps closer, and Castle realizes she's still in her pajamas.

"Sorry he woke you. I was on my way." Dashiell leans out of her arms, and Castle catches him. "Hey there, buddy."

Dashiell babbles and rubs his face in Castle's shirt.

"It's Sunday. I'm going back to bed." Alexis shuffles out the door.

"Don't forget we've got the game this afternoon."

"Yeah, I remember."

"Sweet dreams, pumpkin."

Castle sits down in the rocking chair, his frame almost too big for it, and tries to settle back. Dashiell baby talks to him, lifting his head from his father's chest, his dark eyes earnest.

"What's up, buddy?"

Dashiell talks back, some of it real words and some of it his jabber. Something about Mommy. And he says 'no' a lot. Castle watches the animation, listens to the tone of the boy's conversation, and realizes that Dash has a point to make, wants someone to hear him. Something about bears and water and maybe that last word was stop? He's fairly insistent too.

"Yeah, you're right," he agrees seriously, raising an eyebrow at his son. "Mommy was there?"

Dashiell's babbling increases, almost as if he's excited to have someone who understands, and then it suddenly drops off. Dash blinks, watching his father.

Castle scrambles for a reply. "I hear ya, man. You don't say?"

Dashiell grins widely and pats Castle's chest. "Tiss, Daddeee!" He opens his mouth and leans in to land his wet kiss against Castle's cheek.

"Thanks, buddy. I love your kisses." Castle strokes the curls back from Dashiell's forehead and kisses that smooth spot just above his eyebrow.

Dash slumps back against Castle's chest, his body warm and heavy. It's that sleepy warmth, sleepy heaviness. Castle rubs his back with a hand, rocking a little, inhaling his baby scent.

Castle watches him a moment, the lift and fall of the boy's lashes as he fights against the hypnotic pull of sleep. "It's early, you know. If you had a bad dream, I understand, but you gotta start sleeping more."

Dash lifts his head a little, turning to put his other cheek against Castle's chest. "Momma?" he mumbles.

"Momma thinks you need to sleep more too, buddy. You're killing us, you know? We need more than a couple hours here."

"Ear?"

"Kinda. How about this? You come sleep with me and Mommy for another hour. Huh? Want to try that?"

"Ty Momma," Dash sighs.

Castle smiles. "Yeah, kiddo, let's try Momma." He stands up, making Dashiell squirm against him, but when he walks out of the boy's room and down the stairs, his son barely stirs.

Good. Maybe he really will sleep with them a little bit. He hopes so because Kate will be ticked if Castle brings in their son and Dash wakes her up. Especially after her interrupted sleep. Ooh, yeah, he will be in big trouble. Big trouble. Not smart to get between Kate and her sleep. When she can get it.

Castle eases the door open, looking in at Kate. She's gravitated to the center of the bed, unfortunately. He steps inside, humming a little to keep Dash from perking up again, then closes the door behind him. Huh. Center of the bed will not work.

What else did Kate do? Oh yeah, she closed the bathroom door last time. Smart woman. He closes that, glances around again. Dash fell asleep under the bed last time, he remembers. Maybe. . .?

Castle stops beside the bed, studies Kate for a moment, still sleeping, taking up too much room for both he and Dash to get in as well.

All right then. Go with what works.

Castle gets down on his knees, cradling his son closely, and then peers under the bed. There's enough of a height under there that an adult could probably crawl under, but still. It makes him nervous.

Dash squirms against him, hanging as he is from Castle's chest. The boy kicks out, and Castle has to put him down.

Dashiell blinks sleepily, but Castle gets a bright idea. He grabs the boy's blanket and pushes it under the bed.

And then Dash crawls in after it, his bottom wriggling in the air as he moves, until he hits his favorite blanket and drops down, cheek against its softness.

Castle watches for a moment, not believing his good fortune, then has to sit up because the blood is pounding in his temples, looking at everything upside down.

When he raises his head, Kate is looking at him funny from the middle of the bed, sleepy, yes, but definitely close to irritated with him.

"Go back to sleep, Kate," he whispers, climbing into the bed.

"What're you doing?"

"Sleep," he murmurs, reaching out to rub her back, like he did for Dashiell.

She knocks his arm away. "Rick."

"Just putting Dash to sleep under the bed," he explains hastily, sliding under the sheets.

Kate looks at him, blank, and then huffs out a long sigh. "I don't understand that, but I'm too tired to care." And then she rolls over and he's off the hook.

Castle grins and sneaks a quick look over the side of the bed, hanging nearly out of it, to see his son.

Dashiell is playing with the edge of his blanket with one little hand, his eyes blinking slowly, his mouth slack as sleep begins to claim him.

Castle lifts back up to the bed and slides closer to Kate's warmth, closing his own eyes.

Everything is good. For now.


	66. Chapter 66

**The following chapter contains my work of 'Found Poetry' taken from the first three pages of 'Heat Wave' which is owned by ABC's Castle. Since a found poem is reworked from lines of existing text, I can only claim inspiration and not creation.**

* * *

><p>When Kate wakes, the heat of a warm body causes the flush to rise in her cheeks, fill her chest. She rolls to one side, but Castle is already up and off somewhere; it's Dashiell snuggled up against her, drooling on her stomach, his little limbs heavy.<p>

She groans and sits up, glancing down at her son. His blanket is draped across her chest, trapping most of their body heat, so she throws it off and tries to slide an arm under Dash. He struggles in his sleep, moans like she's hurting his feelings, and flops off of her to snuggle deeper into the still-warm sheets.

Kate pulls herself from bed, struggling to orient herself. The room is dim with the closed blinds, but a crack of sunlight has pierced the foot of the bed and sliced its way to the bathroom. A neat trail for her to follow. She bumps into the doorway with her shoulder and winces to the toilet.

When she goes to wash her hands, she finds that a hand-written note addressed to her is taped to the mirror. She dries her hands and peels it up, then unfolds the note.

From Castle, of course, with no preliminaries, no signature, just his effective script sprawled across the page.

She grins widely, the morning sun at her back in a ribbon of light, as she reads the poem he's written for her.

_see? this is why:_

_he left the shade in the solemn hush_

_-not long-_

_just the length of a slow deep breath._

_he held onto his questioning smile until_

_she finally looked at him_

_and though she tried to stop it_

_a trace of attention rocked her._

_nearly empty, the street cooled_

_after she passed him; she radiated subtext._

_her long fingers brushed her hip,_

_she was trailing vowels._

_he felt the raw edges of the sidewalk_

_give under his feet like he was walking_

_on wet sand; a chance to fill the clean,_

_literate hour with her eyes, with the drape_

_of her hand, with a flavor of chaos._

_she caught him reading the lines_

_of her smile, so she couldn't resist:_

_she backed up, beckoned him over._

_she held her forefinger to his lips._

_he would have missed this,_

_living day and night wrapped_

_in just this side of the page._

_he curled his hands to the form of her skin,_

_struggling to translate her_

_into a statement he wouldn't question,_

_struggling to write something_

_so that she can remember_

_the one thing_

_she will never forget:_

_another body_

_waits to be written._

Castle is deep into the story he's writing for her when she bursts through his door with the page pressed against her chest and her face alight.

Alight.

He's never seen her like this. No, not true. She looked like this the day she gave birth to Dashiell and the labor was so smooth (it was so easy for her at first, it really was, it was just the afterbirth that went so terribly, terribly wrong). When their son came, and she named him Dashiell, and held him against her chest, and then looked up at Castle, it was just like this: _look what you made for me_.

Castle grins and stands up, watching her beam at him like a little kid. No, that's not true either. Too yummy for that. He wants to put his mouth all over that smile. She comes right to him, slides her arms around his neck, that page clutched in her hand, and gives him a slow, deep kiss that doesn't seem to want to end.

He tangles his hand in her hair and uses his fingers to stroke her hip, easing into the drawn-out, torturous mating of their mouths. She pulls back to break off, but he chases her, takes another long drink of her lips before finally letting her go.

She's the first to catch her breath, brushing the back of her hand over her mouth. "This is beautiful. And sexy as hell," she says, and her voice is raw and throaty.

He grins again, watching her flush under his look. "Glad you liked it."

She pulls back, smoothing out the notebook paper, biting her bottom lip. Castle watches her read through it again, his chest filled with the way she looks now, surprised and overwhelmed and in love with him. She's rarely caught off guard like this, so he rarely sees her feelings in a blaze across her face, burning in her eyes. How in love with him she is. It's amazing.

"I'm writing your story now."

Kate jerks her eyes to the laptop, but a crash from the living room turns her back in the direction of the door. "I forgot Dash-"

Castle is already moving past her when the second crash sounds, but the clatter of pots and pans is reassuring, as well as the pounding of little feet. Pots and pans can't do too much harm.

When they get to the living room, Castle can see the pile of shiny metal in the kitchen floor. Dashiell is nowhere in sight, which means he's making more trouble somewhere else.

Kate moves around the center island, and he sees her shake her head. "Not here."

"Is the dishwasher unlocked?"

She jiggles it. "Nope. Locked."

Castle looks back at the pile of kitchenware pulled out of the cupboards, despite the baby locks on all of them. He's got no idea how Dash managed that, but once the mess was made, what did the boy do then?

Hide.

He went and hid.

Kate seems to already get it, because she's heading straight for the coffee table in the living room even as Castle pivots towards it as well. She nods to him over her shoulder, indicating that she can see their son, then gestures with two fingers for him to come around the other side.

Cop directions. She can always get him with those. Castle slides forward in an exaggerated, stealthy, police-action move, grinning at Kate, and she rolls her eyes at him as she gets to her knees beside the coffee table.

"Dash. Hey baby," she says, getting down on her forearms. Castle drops on his belly on the other side and sees his son hiding under the coffee table.

"What're you doing under there?" he says, reaching out his arm to slide his hand down Dash's back. The boy turns his head to look at his father, and his eyes are bright. He doesn't look scared; he looks thrilled, like he does when they play hide-n-seek.

"Hey buddy, you made a big loud noise, didn't you?" Kate says, leaning back against the couch.

Castle watches Dash lifts his head, peer at his mother, and then the boy crawls slowly out from under the table. The living room curtains are drawn across the blinds to keep out the morning light. Which is too bad, because the morning light hitting the windows is just gorgeous.

Oh well.

Dash crawls into his mother's lap, snuggling up in a way Castle never gets to. Is he jealous of his son at this moment? Yeah, a little.

"Did you pull out all those pots?" Kate says, lifting Dashiell off of her lap to stand in front of her.

Well, Castle thinks, not even Dash gets to snuggle for long.

Kate stands up and carries Dash with her back to the kitchen, putting him in front of the mess in the floor. "Did you do this, Dash?"

The boy wriggles in her grip, turns to look at his father, but Castle holds his hands up. "We told you, buddy. No playing in the kitchen. It's dangerous."

Dash garbles back something that sounds like 'dangerous' and points to the pots and pans in a heap at his feet.

Kate shakes her head. "You have trains, Dashiell. Cars. Blocks. Tools. Drums-"

"My toys!" Dashiell exclaims, throwing his arms up over his head.

"Yes. But these are Daddy's pots and pans," Kate says, touching one of the copper-bottomed pots. "Not toys. These are not toys, Dash."

"Not toys." Dash repeats it with solemn eyes, lowering his arms.

"Not toys," Kate says again. "You are going to help Mommy and Daddy put them back."

"Back."

"That's right, buddy." Castle gets down next to the cabinet and pries the remains of the baby lock off the handle. Dash waddles up next to him and squats down, peering into the darkness of the cabinet.

"Oooh. Pity." Dashiell turns and beams at his father.

"Pretty?" Castle says, stifling a laugh.

"Here, baby, help Daddy put it all back." Kate hands over pots and pans one at a time, the two of them doing the work while Dash 'helps' put everything in the cabinets.

When they get it all straight, Kate thumps Dash on the ear and shakes her head at him. "Let's go back to playing with our cars." Kate takes Dash's hand and then glances over at Castle. "And you can go back to writing."

He grins at her, remembering that encounter in his study. "I'd rather play."

Kate's suddenly hot eyes catch him where he stands, but Dashiell jumps up and down at her side, still hanging on to her hand. "Pay, Daddeeeeee. . .pay!"

"I want to play with Mommy," he says, still holding eye contact with Kate, watching the arousal climb in her cheeks, burning.

"Pay me, Daddy!"

Castle steps closer to Kate, ignoring his son bouncing around at her feet, brushes his hand along her hip. "Hey there. Can Kate come out and play?"

"You're making it impossible to say no," she whispers back, her eyes glittering and feral. Kate leans in and takes his mouth, rough and insistent.

Castle is thoroughly enjoying getting ravaged until Kate's hunger is interrupted by Dash's head-butt into the back of his father's knees. The combination of Kate's mouth and Dash's hard head makes his legs buckle.

Kate laughs at him, holding him up until he can untangle his son from between his legs.

"Okay, buddy, all right. I'll let you and Mommy go play while I work."

"No work," Dash grumps, clinging to Castle's legs with his strong, little hands.

"Sorry, buddy," Castle says, catching the look in Kate's eyes. He has to get back to that short story, quick. This morning needs a definite repeat.

Kate leans in and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Another body waits to be written," she quotes, her breath in his ear.

"It certainly does," he says, grinning at her. "Let me get right on that."

Kate brushes her hand down his arm as she leaves him standing in the kitchen, Dashiell jumping over the lines in the wood grain of the floor as they make their way towards the stairs.

"Have fun playing with Mommy," Castle says.

"Pay Mommy!"

_Me too. Soon._


	67. Chapter 67

The Yankees lose their Sunday afternoon game.

Castle bought them cheaper seats because he said he didn't know what she might like, which means they are further away from the field and closer to the crowd. A woman in a navy halter top coming back from her third trip to concessions spills beer down the back of Castle's seat, making him reek of alcohol. The guy in front of them rattles off curses for every foul ball, every swing-through strike, and every ground out the Yankees make. Beside her, a teenager listens to his ipod and calls out insults to the right fielder in an overly-loud voice. The day is hotter than she would like and her thighs stick to the seat.

To Kate's surprise, Dashiell is still in love with baseball. If he weren't so entranced by the game, Kate would have left after the dismal third inning. When the Indians racked up 6 hits and 5 runs without making a single out, Kate was sure it was going to be a long afternoon. Especially with Castle giving a play-by-play to Dashiell, explaining hits and walks and two-seam fastballs to his son like the 18 month old can possibly understand it all. Kate wants to slap her hand over Castle's mouth and send him to time out.

But Dash sits in Kate's lap with his eyes riveted to the field, even though it's further away from them, then he breaks out into wild cheering at the appropriate times. Since cheers are rare in this misery of a game, Dash stays mostly still, and quiet, and absorbed. He watches the players, the crowd around them, the umpires, the ever-changing scoreboard.

So while the Yankees lose, the Castle family wins. Kate is relieved. And she wants to get home.

Alexis is quiet throughout the game, and when they do get to the loft, she heads up to her room to pack up what she can and get to work on the report she was supposed to write for a group project. Kate's worried that a certain amount of melancholy has crept back in, but she's not sure what she should say to the girl. Castle watches Alexis disappear up the stairs. Dash is in his arms, wriggling, so he turns to Kate.

"You want to figure out what kind of season tickets we should get?"

She follows him to the study, his broad back filling her vision, a little foot swinging, the sudden peak of a little face over his father's shoulder. Kate tries on a smile and ducks her head to hide behind Castle's back, then pops up and makes the little boy giggle. Dashiell buries his face in Castle's shirt to hide himself, then pops up in imitation, grinning widely.

Kate pretends to startle, then leans in and kisses his nose just as Castle gives them both a backward glance, everyone entering his office.

"What are you two doing behind my back?"

"Nothing, Daddy," she says, winking at Dash.

The boy bounces in Castle's arms and laughs. "Nut, Daddy. Nut nut!"

"Mommy *is* a nut, isn't she?" Castle murmurs with a grin, then sets the boy down in the floor. "Dashiell. No climbing." He rubs the boy's hair and heads towards his desk chair.

Kate rolls her eyes at him and squats down beside Dash. "Hey baby. Want to play with your baseballs? And look, you left your bat in here too." She grabs the soft foam bat and finds a few of his oversized foam baseballs, then piles them at the boy's feet. Dash scoops down and tries to take them all at once, intent on gathering them up.

Castle calls out from his desk. "His club and golf balls are in here too. I nearly broke my neck this morning."

When Dash looks like he's focused on collecting his baseballs, Kate gets to her feet and joins Castle at his desk. As soon as she gets close, his hands snake around her waist and pull her down to his lap. Kate resists, keeping her balance with a hand on his desk, pushing on his chest to make him leave her alone. She watches him click through the website.

"Sit with me," he whines.

"No. Let me go." She nudges his chair with her knee, making it roll a little to the right so she can slip in between him and the computer. Kate knocks his hand off the mouse and takes over the clicking.

"No, not that one, Kate. That's close to where we were today. I was thinking those-" He points at the screen.

She unchecks the box on the online form and hunts around for a stadium map. "Oh, wow. No. Not here. I don't want to be inside an air-conditioned little box. That's cheating."

"I got the money to cheat."

"I thought we said it was coming out of the Nikki Heat money."

"All right then, Kate, *you* have the money to cheat." He smirks at her, then glances back to the computer. "But not those! No, no, no. Kate. Wait a second-"

She pauses in filling out the form, stands up straight to narrow her eyes at him. "Castle."

"You don't know what you're doing. Look, these are the seats we had Friday-?"

She takes a breath, ignores his tone. "I liked those a lot."

"Okay, okay, so how about four of those?" He slips his hand under hers on the mouse, dislodges her hold on it. "See. . .here we are. I liked having the closed-circuit, in-house tvs."

"And I liked having the ledge in front of us to put our food on." Kate eases back to sit on the arm of his chair, feels his free hand come up to rest at her hip. She wants to knock his hand away. Can't he just *not* touch her for a lousy second?

"Well, let's see if any of these are available for next season, because I know for a fact that this season's seats there are all sold out."

Kate glances to his face as he clicks through the availabilities, the blue glow soft on his cheeks, hard on his chin and forehead and nose. She folded up that note he left her this morning and still has it in her pocket. She doesn't even need to read it again, because the lines of that poem are printed into her memory already. The man from this morning, with his beautiful note, isn't here anymore; instead it's this man with his octopus arms and his whining and that dismissive, _I know what I'm doing_ attitude.

She's still got no idea how he does it, where that change comes over him or how; she only knows that somehow, it's there. He can be a lumbering idiot half the time; he can be a cocky smartass the other half. But somehow when he starts putting words onto paper, Richard Castle becomes a beautiful man.

And just for that man, Kate darts forward and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, then reaches up and wipes the chapstick smudge from his skin. Castle gives her one of those distracted looks as he skims the terms and agreements contract that's popped up, then goes back to purchasing their season tickets.

When she glances towards the middle of the room, Dashiell is placing his baseballs in a neat row in front of his father's writing chair, lining them up perfectly. The golf club is under one arm and dragging along the floor; the foam bat has been abandoned. There seems to be an intricate set-up of books he's pulled off the bottom shelf that act as golf hole or soccer net or maze. She's not sure what kind of game Dash thinks he's playing.

"Okay, so do we want the kids' club package added on to it?" Castle says, squeezing her hip to get her attention.

Kate looks back to the computer and shrugs. "I don't think that's necessary right now. It's just one of those things where you pay a fee and they give the kid free gear every once in awhile or have a night camped out on the field."

"But they do have a day where they meet the players-"

"We already did that, though. I mean. Sounds bad to say it, but you've got connections, Castle." She wiggles her eyebrows at him, trying to bring back some of the ease of this morning, the levity of a few hours ago. "I don't think we need to do the kids' club until he's old enough to make memories, you know?"

"Fine. Whatever." Castle scrolls down the final receipt then lifts his hip to get at his wallet.

Kate narrows her eyes at him. "Don't take it out of your account, Castle."

"I know, I know," he says, opening his billfold to tug out a card. "I've got to put it on a credit card though. Then I'll pay off the credit card with the money from the Nikki Heat account."

She frowns at him, not sure why he wants to do it that way, the hard way, when it's easier to just use the card he gave her. "Why can't you use the number on my debit card?"

"Doesn't take debit."

"But it will run through like a credit card," she argues, moving off the chair to head back towards the hall. "Let me get it."

She hears him yelling at her to forget it, but she ignores him. He thinks it will only take a credit card, but she's pretty sure she can put in the debit card's numbers and it will do the same thing. When she comes back with her wallet, she's already pulled out the card he just gave her back. "Here. It's-"

"Kate. It won't-"

"Just try it. It runs through like a credit card. I promise. I've done this before." But he's got his credit card out and is punching in numbers, ignoring her.

"Regardless-" he starts, gesturing at her with his hand as he finishes filling in the numbers from his credit card. "I want-"

"Castle. Stop being an ass. Just try it; you'll see. The debit card is backed by a credit card company so that it works the same-"

He swivels to look at her, thunder on his face. "I *know* that, Kate. I don't want to use the debit card online." He mutters something under his breath and turns back to the screen.

It sounds suspiciously like _Back off_.

She grinds her teeth and pivots on the ball of her foot, heads back to the living room, and shoves the card and wallet into her purse. Kate puts her hands on her hips, taking a long and deep breath, studies the grain of the wood in the front door.

She hears Dashiell following her into the living room, dragging the golf club across the floor. Kate turns to look and sees him clutching four of his foam baseballs, one even tucked under his chin, carefully maneuvering around the furniture.

He makes a garbled sound of triumph when he gets to the coffee table, his words distorted by keeping a tight hold of that baseball with his chin, then Dash drops it all to the floor. She watches him shove everything underneath the table and then crawl in after it.

Hiding? Or coming up with a brand new game?

Stupid fight. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She can be controlling and bossy. He can be petulant and asinine. Not good combinations, but he's probably sulking in his office right now while she's out here trying to get a handle on her frustration.

She goes back to the office, stands in the doorway. Castle has his head propped up in one hand so that his face is turned away from her. She has the funny feeling that she doesn't want to see what's etched there.

"Castle."

He jerks and looks over his shoulder at her, then straightens up and uses his toes to walk the chair closer to his desk, sets his elbows on the armrests. Kate comes into the room, hesitating on her necessary response.

"Okay," she says, and she knows that's not any kind of apology, but it's the best she can do today.

Castle studies her a moment, then nods his agreement and finishes up on the computer. "We should be getting some kind of welcome packet thing in the mail. Until then, I think I can call in enough favors last minute to get us tickets for whatever game you end up being able to make."

"Good." She folds her arms across her chest because she doesn't know what to do with her hands. "Yeah. It'd be nice to go to a few more." She shifts to one foot, glances down at him.

"I've got to change out of this shirt. The beer has dried, but I smell ripe."

She chews on the inside of her lip but nods back to him. Kate gestures towards the living room. "Well, Dash is under the coffee table with his baseballs and golf club."

He gives a wan smile back. "Yeah. You better-"

"I should."

But she stays rooted there while he slowly stands up, the two of them suddenly awkward and disconnected. The Yankees loss, the inconsiderate woman with her beer, the man's bitter curses, these have conspired against their easy companionship. They are both feeling testy and irritated, remembering the wounds of a few nights ago.

Kate steps back to let him by, but Castle doesn't move away either. There's something he wants to say, she can tell by the hesitance in his body and the schooled look on his face. She doesn't have it in her to interrogate him today, to draw it out of him piece by piece like he wants.

She's not going to ask.

Kate turns back to the door and heads out to join her son in the living room, shoving her hands into her pockets as she moves.

Her fingers crumple something and she jerks her hand back, stopping short just past the doorway of the study. She carefully eases the note out of her pocket and smooths it over her thigh.

He's better writing it down.

_struggling to translate her_

_into a statement he wouldn't question_

Kate sighs, doesn't even have to open the note to remember those lines, remember the feel of those words, throaty and rich like he'd spoken them with his lips at the shell of her ear, his heat burning into her back.

She turns around and steps into his study, watches the automatic way he struggles with the buttons on his cuffs, still trying to get off his shirt, staring at nothing as he fumes silently.

Kate comes to his side and wraps her fingers around his wrist, pulling it towards her so that she can unfasten the buttons, roll the sleeves back down. She draws the shirt off his arms, lets it drop in the floor, leans in to sniff the back of the green tshirt he'd been wearing underneath.

Still stinks. Kate slides her hands around his waist and touches skin, slowly lifts his shirt over his head, gets his help divesting him of it. Castle stands in front of her; Kate steps closer and presses her cheek to his bare chest, closing her eyes for a moment. She lets her hands rest at his waist, her thumbs soothing the skin above his belt.

Castle stops being neutral, raises his arms to encircle her, draws her a step closer without words.

It's better this way. Forgiving and forgiven in silence.


	68. Chapter 68

Alexis has just ended the phone call when Kate taps on her door and steps into her room. Dash follows behind her, peeking around Kate's legs.

"Hey, Alexis. Mind if we come in?"

"No, come sit," Alexis replies, clearing a space on her bed for Kate. This might be a good time to talk to her about all of this. She's just not sure what to say.

Dashiell plops down on the floor, reaching for Alexis's bright colored pencils scattered over the floor. Alexis watches for a second, but he doesn't try to chew on them. She leans over and grabs blank paper from her printer on the floor, then slips it to Dash. He gleefully begins scribbling.

"When were you thinking of heading back?" Kate sits gingerly on the edge of Alexis's bed, drawing a knee up, watching Dash as well.

"I don't know. Why?" Alexis closes her notebook and stuffs it into her textbook to keep her place, drops those over the other side of the bed onto her backpack. Dashiell looks up at the noise, but he goes back to his coloring, poking holes in the paper with the force of his grip.

"Well, I wanted to take your dad out on a run before you go. If you don't mind hanging out with Dash?" Kate leans over and puts one of Alexis's notebooks under the paper; Dashiell scribbles again.

Alexis hesitates, glancing to the digital display on her iphone. It's already four in the afternoon and she's got this group project and now. . .

"Oh hey, no," Kate starts. "If you have to get back, tell me. We can take Dash in the jogging stroller."

Alexis chews on her lip and glances up at Kate. "I don't know. I'm supposed to meet my group tonight to finish this project."

"I understand. No big deal," Kate says and starts to stand up, heading for Dash.

Alexis holds out a hand to stop her, knitting her eyebrows, her stomach churning. "Wait. I need. . .I don't know when I'm going. What time did you want to run?"

"Soon. Before dinner."

"It's hot out there."

"Yeah," Kate shrugs but stays on the end of Alexis's bed. She looks expectant, that _get on with it_ tone to her voice. "We'll make it. And we'll take Dash with us, Alexis. You don't need to rearrange everything just for a run." Dashiell gurgles in his baby talk language, begins using the green and purple pencils to drum against the paper.

Alexis still hesitates to talk. Paige was furious with her on the phone, and she's been texting Lofton since the Indians won the game this afternoon. "I don't know if I want to go to the group thing tonight."

"Okay," Kate says, raising her eyebrows in a silent invitation for more.

Alexis feels the blush rising on her face. She's still so ashamed of what happened the other night, but Kate has been rather matter of fact about it. "This group. . .that's where I started uh. . .smoking."

Kate leans back on her hands and arches an eyebrow. "You did."

"We've got this huge project that we've got to work on all semester. We have due dates for each section of it every other week. Tomorrow is the written report." Dashiell flings a colored pencil across the room and laughs. Kate shoots him a glare, scoops up the pencil, and taps Dash on the nose with it.

"No baby. Don't throw." Kate stares down Dash for a second, then relinquishes the pencil to his eager grasp. "What class is this?"

"My psychology class. We had to set up an experiment and collect data and then make our conclusions. It takes a lot of people."

"How many are in your group?"

"Ten. The class is huge 'cause it's General Psych 101. Everyone has to take it at some point, you know?"

"So were you assigned a group or did you get to-"

"Assigned." Alexis picks at a thread in her duvet cover, worrying at it. Dashiell has returned to coloring, using the black color pencil to scribble over nearly the entire page, joyous and unrestrained in his art.

"Your psych teacher assigned you to a group of ten and you've been hanging out with them all semester. And they started smoking marijuana at your group meetings?"

"No. Well. Yes, eventually. Four or five of them are already friends and live in the same Greek house, so most of us go over there. And then it was just hanging out after we finished our meeting, and the stuff got passed around."

"You've been doing this all semester?" Kate's face is just so closed off, so neutral that it makes Alexis nervous; she can't read her.

"Yeah. Yes. Yes ma'am." She blushes at calling Kate _ma'am_ and fiddles with her phone, sliding her thumb along the screen. "And that group meets tonight."

"Why is that a problem?" Kate says carefully.

"Why? Because they. . .because I don't know if I can go and not do it too," Alexis admits, sighing heavily and burying her head in her hands. Her shame swallows her up again, making her blush.

She feels Kate's fingers wrap around her wrists, tugging; Alexis looks up at Kate, her heart twisting in her chest. She's disappointed Kate; she knows she has. How can she not have?

"That takes a lot of courage and self-awareness to admit, Alexis."

She swallows painfully and closes her hands into fists, realizes that Kate still has a hold of her. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I think that's up to you," Kate answers, giving her a sympathetic smile. "But at least you know where you're weak, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Did Kate just-? She did. Alexis feels the burn in her chest like she's holding her breath, but it's just that word bouncing around inside. Sweetheart. Alexis leans in and wraps her arms around Kate's shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut.

Kate doesn't even hesitate any more; her arms go around Alexis too, a good, hard hug that makes the girl's shame shrink the longer Kate holds her. When Kate first started living at the loft with them, Alexis had been the one to initiate all their contact, to throw her arms around Kate, to nudge her shoulder, to kiss her cheek in greeting. But Kate doesn't seem to mind it anymore, and it only makes Alexis feel better to know there's not a bit of reserve in Kate's hug now.

Dash clings to the comforter and butts his head between them. "Momma!"

"Back off, wild man," Kate says, laughing at the boy's insistent face and ruffling his hair. "Go color while I talk to your sister."

"Is-sis."

Alexis draws back, grinning at her brother. Dashiell plops back down on the floor and tentatively puts the orange pencil in his mouth. He wrinkles up his nose and withdraws it, making faces. Alexis laughs. "You know, I chose NYU because I wanted to be close to you guys."

"I know your Dad was thrilled when you picked it," Kate says, smiling softly. "He wasn't too happy about the idea of you going a thousand miles away. You know that he loves it when you drop by."

"Yeah. But I mean, I wanted to know my little brother, too. I didn't want to miss anything. I wanted to be a part of your family. I. . .I didn't want to be left out and-"

"Hey," Kate says softly, interrupting her to nudge her shoulder. "It's your family too. Not just mine. All of us. Okay? Right Dash?"

Dashiell glances up and gives them a toothy grin, his whole face squeezing together, curls framing his eyes. He shrieks something in his language and waves the colored pencils at them.

Alexis smiles, but she tries to stay focused on what she wants to say. "What I mean is. . .I chose NYU and then you told me I should live on campus, that I'd be so annoyed to hear the baby crying all the time in the middle of the night, and that I'd want to hang out with my friends in privacy-"

"Oh, Alexis. Damn it." Kate groans, slapping her hand over her mouth. Dash doesn't seem to notice though. "I didn't mean it like that. I was afraid you'd get tired of hearing us fight. And I wanted you to have a good college experience. My friends who went to NYU who stayed at home, they ended up dropping out or not really getting a chance to make friends. They got stuck. I didn't want that to happen to you."

"No, no," Alexis says, shaking her head at Kate. "I didn't think that. Honest. And you were right. Dash's sleepless nights wouldn't go so well with the weird hours that I end up having."

Kate sighs in relief. "Exactly."

"But I think now I want to move back in with you guys."

She watches Kate's face go blank, the slow blink of her eyes. Alexis holds her breath and waits for Kate to adjust, watching Dashiell make a fist around the blue color pencil and streak it down the page.

"You do?" Kate tilts her head. "Are you sure? I mean, no, sorry. Alexis, this is your house, you know? You come and go as you want. Stay here, stay in the dorms. It's up to you. But I am kind of surprised you want to move back."

Alexis nods, feels the tightness in her chest ease a little bit. "I was thinking it would be a good idea. But. . .what you said about getting stuck. I think. . .I think I feel that too. What did you mean by that?"

"You end up hanging out with all your high school friends, you pass up opportunities for growth because you're in the rut of all the same old things. You should have the chance to come home and look around and think about how much better you'd be doing it if it were you, and how you'd be a better mom than me, and how you see right through your dad." Kate gives her a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow. "You know?"

"Don't I already see right through Dad?" Alexis laughs. "But that makes sense. I went with Paige to that party because I felt. . .stuck. In all those old things, like you said. But in the dorms with everyone, Kate. . .it doesn't feel better there. I come home and I realize I've been doing stupid stuff and I shouldn't, but I just. . ."

"Some of that, Alexis, is just what college is. That doesn't mean I'm saying it's okay for you to smoke pot or drink when you're underage, but I think you're allowed to be a little. . .loose."

Alexis gives her a flickering smile. "Yeah, but I'm almost 21, and I needed my mom to come pick me up from a party. I think maybe I should. . .tighten it back up."

A kind of shy smile spreads across Kate's face, dazzling. Alexis recalls the dazed look on her father whenever Kate smiles at him like this, and now she knows why. Her 'mom' almost looks like a different person, all lit up and gorgeous eyes and just. . .beautiful. It makes Alexis feel beautiful too, just looking at her.

"I kinda love it when you do that," Kate says, still grinning, and lays her hand over Alexis's forearm, squeezing. "Anyway. Moving home isn't necessarily the only solution here, kiddo. I think you've got the self-discipline to make good choices in the dorms, but if you want to be here, we want you here."

"I thought I had the discipline too," Alexis sighs, rubbing her forehead. "But I mean. . .it all seems rational and okay when I'm there, because I'm doing so much more than most of the people in my class. I mean, I go to bed the night before a big test, I study for days. But that's also bad too, because it means I don't always fit in. At Marlowe, it's easy to be a goody-goody, you know? Almost everyone there was interested in getting good grades and extra-curriculars. But they aren't like that at NYU. They want to. . .have fun, hang out, do stuff."

Kate glances over at Dash, then studies Alexis. The girl can feel her eyes peeling back every layer, analyzing. "And the kids from high school? Paige?"

Alexis sighs. "Paige is worse, I guess. But whenever Paige calls, I get this urge to prove myself. Like I've got to make sure she knows that I'm better than her. I go along to show her just how much better it is at NYU than being stuck at home like she is even though when I'm at NYU, I feel like I'm a freak, like I don't belong with any of them-" Alexis shrugs and frowns, feeling uncomfortable with her own thoughts.

"You are better than Paige. You're better than the guys at NYU. You know what's right, Alexis, so don't be afraid to be yourself," Kate says, shrugging back, her eyes soft. Alexis hates the tight feeling in her chest.

"But I am afraid." Alexis admits. "You're so. . .strong. I want to be like that."

Kate doesn't look at her, just brushes a hand through Dash's hair as he tries to climb up Alexis's comforter. "I think you have strength, Alexis."

Alexis leans her head back against the wall and sighs. "Do I?"

"Stronger than me when I was your age."

"I don't believe that," Alexis sighs.

"It's true though. You're trying; you're putting yourself out there. My best friend in high school was a girl named Madison. But when my mom died, a lot of people got left behind in my. . .obsession with the police department. I didn't reconnect with Maddy until a few years ago actually. Looking back, I should've held on to those friends who really knew me, who knew me back when I still had my mom. I think it would've made it easier to crawl out of the pit I dug for myself."

"Do you hang out with her now?"

"Actually. . .no. Not often." Kate leans down and helps Dashiell climb up the bed, but he shrieks at her and jerks out of her hands. He tumbles back to Alexis's floor and moves down so that Kate can't reach him, trying again.

Alexis watches his unsuccessful attempts. "Do you wish that you and Madison had kept up?"

Kate shifts on the bed, looking pensive. "I don't know. I hurt a lot of people by cutting them out of my life."

"Your mom had just died," Alexis says gently. "I think everyone knew you had to deal with that grief however you possibly could."

"Well." Kate shrugs, like she's dismissing Alexis's answers as an excuse. "It is what it is-"

Alexis's phone vibrates on the bed; Kate pauses. Alexis glances at the display. Paige again. The phone is mocking her. But she answers it. "Hello."

"Hey Alexis."

Kate starts to stand. "I'll let you-"

"No!" Alexis says, grabbing Kate's arm.

"No? I haven't even asked." Paige laughs.

"Sorry, Paige, no. Talking to my. . .brother." Alexis lifts her eyes to Kate and pleads with her. She's not sure why she needs Kate's support for this, but she keeps her fingers tight around Kate's wrist. Dashiell has stopped climbing and has put his chin on the comforter, watching her with sad eyes.

"Have you thought about it? I don't want to bring you if you're just gonna bitch and moan all night."

"I can't make it. I'm baby-sitting my little brother," Alexis says firmly. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Kate raise an eyebrow, but the woman doesn't pull her hand away from Alexis's, doesn't try to leave.

"Shit. You've got to dump the kid, Lexi."

"No. I should go. I'll talk to you later."

"Want me to text you dirty pics from the party?"

Alexis gives a strangled laugh and glances at Kate. "Whatever you want, Paige."

She hangs up and Kate is shaking her head. "You don't have to baby-sit, Alexis. You could-"

"No more parties with Paige, I think," Alexis interrupts giving Kate a weak smile. "But thanks. Go take your run. I'm good."

"Alexis. Whatever you decide, I think you know we want you here, right? Not just for the free baby-sitting."

"Yeah. I know. Thank you. I just need to figure out if staying in the dorms is the right place for me."

"Have you thought about getting an apartment with friends? I think your dad and I could help you pay for that."

Alexis's throat closes up. She doesn't deserve this, not after the other night. But Kate just keeps acting like nothing's changed, like Alexis is still the good girl. Even though Kate was disappointed in her, even though Kate had to come rescue her from that party, she's still sitting on Alexis's bed and holding her hand and giving her hugs and just. . .

Just loving her. How does she do that? "Thanks, Kate. I'll let you know. An apartment might not be any different, depending on who I room with. But I'll think about it."

Kate leans in and wraps her in another hug. How many hugs is that in one night from Kate? It's a little bewildering.

"Is that-I mean, is this better? I don't know that I've helped you any. But maybe you feel better about it?" Kate asks, brushing a hand down Alexis's hair.

"I do. I feel better. I'm so glad you're here," she says, wanting to close her eyes and lean in to Kate's touch, but how needy would *that* be? "I couldn't really talk about this with Dad. But you. . .you're easy to talk to. Now seriously. Go torture Dad with a nice, long run."

Kate grins at her. "All right. Don't have to tell me twice. Can I leave Dash in here with you?"

"Yeah, we're good. Right, bubba?" Alexis reaches over and lifts Dashiell up onto the bed with her.

Dashiell bounces on the bed, grinning at her as Kate stands up. "Thanks, Alexis. We can talk more tonight, if you're still here."

Alexis nods and watches Kate leave her room. She feels shaky, like she's just thrown up; her mouth is dry and her palms damp. Dashiell gives a little lunge and falls into her pillow, giggling.

"Okay, Dash. What do you want to play while Momma and Daddy go running?"

"Trains!"

Of course.


	69. Chapter 69

The losing baseball game put things into a spiral for Castle. Kate was dispirited, Alexis slinked off to her room, and there was the stupid little fight. He wants to finish this short story for her, but he sits at his computer and stares at what he's written so far, and he's not in the mood.

The story has a tone that's completely unlike his regular mystery novels. And to keep that flavor, he's got to get back to that feeling, that place, and write from there. But he can't because the funk has clouded everything.

Castle calls it the funk because it's not as serious as a depression, or as debilitating as writer's block. It's just this way sometimes. Usually, he can get out of it by forcing himself to sit down and just write, write anything at all, but it's actually getting his butt in the chair that's the hardest part.

He doesn't want this story ending up as fodder for his funk, so he needs to hold off on finishing it while the funk remains.

He wants a hug.

He wants a hug from someone who wants to hug him first. Not from someone who thinks she's doing her duty.

Instead, Kate wrangles him into another run. Dash is already upstairs with Alexis, Kate has her running clothes on, and Castle doesn't know how to say no.

So they run.

They don't talk this time, which actually improves his rhythm and keeps him in the zone. Castle measures his steps against his breathing, tries to match Kate's pace as they jog through the park. It's the same route they took yesterday, but the clouds have obscured the sun and he can feel a splattering of raindrops every so often. Looks like they'll have another storm tonight.

The air is hazy. Each breath feels coated with moisture and chemicals. Castle itches to get out of the city, to run on the sand in the Hamptons instead; he wants a change of venue. He's never the type to seek out solitary space, but he'd really like to take his family off the grid for a couple of days.

It's not going to happen, of course. Kate's got to go back to work on Tuesday. And Alexis has school. And there's the preschool tour for Dash on Monday. Life crowds in; schedules get filled. He has millions of dollars. But they can't manage to get out from under the tyranny of the urgent.

The slap of his shoes on the paved path make a nice counterpoint to the ragged sound of his breathing. He's not gasping like a fish this afternoon, but he can feel that nice burn in his thighs, his glutes, as each step passes. Beside him, Kate is quiet, steady, unrelenting.

The run helps. Castle might not ever admit it to her, but the run is sweating out some of that funk, working out the kinks between them even in the silence. They had such an interesting conversation last time, talking about marriage and Rilke, that silence seems the only appropriate encore.

They split to go around a slower-moving woman with her jogging stroller. They come back together, shoulders jostling for space, side by side again. Since Kate is nearly as tall as he is, or at least within range, their strides match without much trouble. He likes that. He doesn't have to hobble himself; she isn't pushing it to stay at his side.

It's easy. It's always been easy. Even when it's hard, it's still easy. Funny how that works. Even when Kate was two months pregnant and giving him the cold shoulder, refusing every helpful suggestion he offered just because he offered, even then. . .it was easy. They just match. They fall into a rhythm without trying.

Maybe this is why these issues they circle around get to him so much. They require work. Castle has to keep digging at it, keep nudging her, keep bringing it up, keep adjusting, keep fixing. He's not used to working at it, not used to working at Kate.

But it is work.

With his first two marriages, Castle thinks he quit working. That might have been half his problem. Why did Meredith cheat on him in the first place? Because Castle felt like it got too hard trying to make her be a good parent, and he quit working at it. And Gina? He quit that before it even began. They had so many issues, Castle's default setting with her was checking out.

Working at Kate. Working with Kate. Either way, (and he *does* think the preposition is important, that it shades the meaning), either way, when he works here, now, he wants to be doing it. He's ready for it. He says, _Bring it on_.

Yeah, going for a run was a good idea. She's smart; she gets it. She's smarter than him about this stuff, even when she says that he's got all the experience. Kate's the one who knows how to cope; she's the one with skills.

_Mad skills._

Castle grins to himself and feels an elbow to his ribs, a glancing blow. He catches Kate eyeballing him and shrugs.

"Share with the class?" she says, her words timed to her breaths.

"Wouldn't be funny," he pants back. "Mad skills."

She raises her eyebrows, ducks to avoid a low-hanging branch as they head into the trees. He cracks a stick with his next footfall and feels it snap just under his toes.

"Mm-hm," she murmurs, ignoring him again.

Yeah, he loves her, sticky with sweat and elbow-throwing and solitary. And she's smoking hot. And she's somehow become his best friend. Castle's not sure he's ever had one person who has fit that role, that best friend-confidante. He's always got a group around him, an inner circle culled from that group, but he's rarely managed to maintain a relationship with one person like this.

It's invigorating. It's hard.

She's worth it.

* * *

><p>Whatever writer-mood had descended on Castle seems to have lifted. He's chuckling to himself over there, grinning at his own inner monologue; she watches him from the corner of her vision, unable to keep from rolling her eyes.<p>

Still. It's kinda cute.

Her own malaise has improved as well. Working out will always do that for her. She'd really like to punch a bag and take down a mixed martial arts opponent, but she'll have to make do with a grueling run.

She's set a wicked pace, but Castle seems to not even notice. It's a little revolting. He should be winded by now, but he's not. He looks like he could run for miles before it catches up with him. Sweat stains his pits, a line down the front of his tshirt, but he breathes easy. His pace is good; his face is clear.

Her thighs are burning. She hasn't managed to get a consistent running schedule since before Dash was born. She's been out of it too long. Being a detective requires a lot of fast-twitch muscles, so the slow-twitch, marathon-producing muscles get neglected. She's sprinting after her suspects, usually, not trailing after them for miles.

She misses her job.

Kate stumbles on the downbeat of her pace, manages to gracefully recover without missing the next step. But she's still got that revelation stuck to her: she wants to be at the precinct, neck-deep in a case.

It's a craving. She's addicted; that's fine. She's not above calling it what it is. Her vague longing for another kid gets reshaped suddenly, becomes less realistic and more fantastic. What a stupid idea. She's a detective, not a housewife. She's a cop, not a mom-

Oh. Well, but she *is* a mom. Which is weird. And to Alexis. Not just to a little wild man who can't seem to sleep, but to a twenty year old. That's ridiculous. Kate was just twenty herself. She's practically still twenty. Twenty is like. . .five months ago.

At the same time, twenty is also light years from where she is now. That's a good thing; she needs all the experience she can get, dealing with this man. Richard Castle. When she was twenty, there's no way she'd be able to do this with him.

Oh, she might have slept with him. She probably would have, yes. And pregnant. At twenty. No Dash then, because she knows what choice she'd have made at twenty, the intensity of her focus.

She misses that, she realizes. Intensity of focus. She had a plan, and a goal for her life; she did everything to fit that plan. She knew it would turn out in her favor; she knew that time plus effort would yield a change, a change in her mother's case.

But now? She's in her thirties and has a son, a marriage, and she's taking a week off in the middle of a murder case so that her husband can catch his breath. Kate's not sure that her twenty year old self would much like her thirty year old self.

If she never closes her mother's case, what will that do to her?

Wow. Even thinking it, even handling the concept hurts. Deep. Like something tearing in half.

She stopped her life to focus on her mother's murder; she diverted all of her energies and resources and efforts into her mother's case. But then she got pregnant. Well, no, to be fair to poor Dashiell, that's not exactly the starting point. She met *Castle* and that alone. . .

Castle is like this boulder that's suddenly fallen into her riverbed. The water knocks into it, bounces around a little, eddies and swirls, rapids maybe, and then flows around. The landscape is changed forever, the rock will never move, but the river isn't suddenly *not* a river, is it? The river still pushes through with all that raging force behind it, heads for the sea, undaunted.

But it's got this boulder in it. This obstacle. This feature. This outcropping. And it's different because of it.

Just because she's got Castle, doesn't mean she's not still heading for the sea. Right? She's not abandoned her mother yet. There's still time.


	70. Chapter 70

_for Katie_

_who understands_

_When the early morning sunlight bounces off the mirror behind the bar and blinds her, Reina squints against it and shades her eyes. The door swings shut, blocking the glare and leaving the pub dim. Her father is on the furthest stool at the left, right where she expected him, poised at the bar with a hand curved around a tumbler._

_Reina pushes her hair back from her eyes and takes a deep breath. Jake has always been a good drunk, which makes it hard on his daughter, but even being able to hold his liquor hasn't saved him this time. She's here to tell him he's been fired._

_He probably knows that, somewhere in his pickled brain._

_Reina's best friend from childhood told her a few months ago, "At least your dad's a sober drunk. Consider yourself lucky and let it go." And while Matty has her own drunken (and abusive) parent issues to deal with, those words have been eating away at Reina; she hasn't spoken to Matty since then, not because she's angry, but because she's resigned. She knows that this is another thing that tragedy has taken from her: first her mother, then her father because of the alcohol, and now her friend (because Reina just can't let it go)._

_Enough self-pity. She's here for her father._

_Reina shoves her hands in her pockets and sits down next to Jake at the bar. She lets the silence speak for her, because she doesn't know how to say what needs to be said._

_The warm wood under her palms is worn by the hundreds of patrons who've sat here before her. Reina traces a nail along the whorls in the grain and watches her finger find its way. The jukebox winds down, something about low places, and she has to admit she's there already._

_Her father slides the tumbler her direction, tilting the glass in offering._

_Reina shakes her head and the glass slides back in front of Jake. He knocks back the rest of it and holds up a finger to the bartender. When the black-shirted man comes over with the good scotch, Reina slaps her hand on top of the glass and glares._

_All her anger is directed at the wrong person, and she knows that, but she still can't look at her father without breaking. Not right now. Not on this day._

_Jake jerks the glass out from under her hand but the bartender has already moved away. Apparently Jake is just as loathe to break their silence, because he doesn't call the man back. Instead, her father gets off the stool, putting out a steadying hand to the bar, and heads for the bathroom._

_Reina waits, measuring her breaths. A few months ago, her father used this opportunity to slip out the back into the alley, ashamed to face her, or just spiteful, but she knows that he won't do that to her today. Not today. Not on this day._

_Sure enough, there's Jake, ambling back to his stool, upright and maybe a little slow for nine o'clock in the morning, but like Matty pointed out, he doesn't look drunk. He's always been a serious man with a rare laugh, and the alcohol only deepens the lines in his face, enforces his reserve._

_Reina is too much like him; she has given up on finding anything worth smiling about. And that's fine. She's grateful for the even temper, finds herself retreating into it more and more. Once, she had a wild side, a rebellious streak that came from her mother and because of her mother._

_But her mother is dead. And so dies the rebellion._

_Jake slides onto the stool; she watches the slight tremor in his hands as he touches the rim of the glass._

_Here is the only time to start._

_"You've been suspended, Dad."_

_He grunts but says nothing._

_"They need you to turn in your badge and gun."_

_"I expect so," he says finally. His words are not slurred, his eyes are clear. A sober drunk. And she hates it. She hates him; she wishes he would stumble over his own feet and piss against a federal building at one in the morning. She wishes he'd run his car into a light pole or discharge his weapon in the police precinct. Anything to let the rest of the world know that he's not all right._

_He's not all right._

_"You might not lose your pension, Dad. If you go now."_

_"To the precinct." He lifts the glass and puts it to his lips, seeking that last drop, sighing when he comes up dry. "To turn in my badge."_

_Reina lowers her eyes to the bar, struggles to keep herself empty. This is her fight; he's made it her fight. "You failed the weapons-"_

_"I know what I've done, Ray."_

_She nods, clears her throat. She has something else she needs to say; this is her last hand. She has no more cards to play if he calls her bluff._

_"Dad. If you're off the force. If you're not a cop, then who's gonna catch mom's killer? Who else cares about closing that case?"_

_Jake brings his hands to his face, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyelids, blotting it out. He says nothing, but breathes heavily, each breath like a struggle. She hears the grief in every rattling of his chest, feels it echo in her skull. Today. Reina's birthday. The day her mother woke Jake at two in the morning to head for the hospital. Reina guesses he's been drinking since two._

_He has to stop drinking. He has to. She's got nothing left; that was the last and worst thing she could think of, after three years of begging and demanding and issuing ultimatums and ignoring it. The last and the worst: no one cares about closing mom's case but you._

_Jake lifts his head, lets his hands drop to the wood. "Maybe it's time to let it go."_

_Reina flinches. "You don't mean that," she says automatically, her hands in fists at her thighs. Now it is her breath struggling into her lungs, her heart pounding._

_Her father says nothing, stares at the liquid in the bottles arranged along the shelf behind the bar. Plotting, she thinks. How to get that next drink._

_"I think I do," he says finally. "I think I mean it."_

_She slides off the bar stool and feels her knees giving way as she tries to stand. She has to put out a hand to hold on, get her feet under her. She watches people through the windows until she feels she can look at him again._

_"So that's it? You're done. It's done."_

_"It's for the best, Ray. I've put in my time."_

_"And mom?"_

_"Your mother is dead. But I am not. Your mother is dead, and somehow I've got to live with that."_

_And that's when Reina walks out._

* * *

><p>Kate splays her fingers over his pages, closes her eyes as she tries to absorb it. One hit after another. How he does this to her, every time, she doesn't know. Or understand. But the words are there, and they resonate. And Kate isn't sure she can finish this one.<p>

This is not a story she has told him. How does he know?

When she asked him for a story, what possessed Castle to write about Kate and her father? Because she knows that's what he's doing with this scene. This is the stuff he didn't put in the Nikki Heat books, the stories she never wants the world to read.

Her father. She bows her head and takes in a deep breath. Jim Beckett is not this man. She never wants anyone to think that this man existed. She loves him fiercely; his life is renewed, made clean, and Kate wants only for her father to-

She sighs, confronts the hypocrisy of her own feelings. She wants her father to remain her mother's alone, and she wants her father to never revert back to being the Jake of this story. He's put in his time.

And so has she. Hasn't she? Is it done, as this suggests? Once, Kate accepted that and replaced her mother's case back in Archives, closed the lid on it, made a promise to always keep her eyes open but not let it take her under.

Maybe that's not good enough. Maybe treading water is still cheating herself, cheating Castle, cheating her son. Dashiell deserves everything, all of it. Not shadows.

Castle is a good man. A better writer, of course.

Kate gets up, steps away from his desk, leaving the short story on top. She trails her fingers over the dedication as she goes, then lifts her head to see him hovering in the doorway, watching her.

"Rick."

He comes inside, hesitant and expectant and looking like he's prepared to have his feelings crushed (as he does every time a critic has written a column on him, every time another reviewer posts an article online, every time Kate reads anything of his). She extends her hand and he wraps his larger one around hers, holding tight.

She bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep from spilling over in tears. She knows her eyes must be suspiciously glassy, but she smiles at him.

"I needed that," she says, and even though it's not what she wants to say, it seems to do the trick.

Castle is holding her before she even knows it, his arms wrapped around her, his nose buried in her hair. Kate curves her arms up his back and closes her eyes, absorbing this as well, like aloe on a sunburn.

"I needed this," he says back, his words rumbling through his chest and into hers.

"That was about my dad," she says slowly, laying her ear against the skin at the base of his neck. She can feel and hear his pulse.

"Or that was about my mother," he counters.

Oh. There's so much she doesn't know about him. So much he doesn't know about her. "Do you want me to tell you about my dad?"

"I have a pretty good imagination, Kate." He's smiling; she can hear it. "But if you need to-"

"No. Not today." She has things to think about today. "Will you tell me about your mother some time?" Not that she hasn't put it together, not that she hasn't seen Martha Rodgers, drunk and glorious, in her own living room, dancing Dashiell around the coffee table. Not that she hasn't seen the peculiar brand of love and resignation in Castle's eyes when Martha is in that place, just as Kate saw the same in her own, back then.

"I'll tell you a story. Some day." He promises easily, and she knows that he likes to pretend he's okay with all of it: the whole mess of his childhood. But she also knows, however briefly, the hole an abandoning father can leave.

"I like your stories. You always have the best words."


	71. Chapter 71

He's not sure what compelled him to write about a drunken parent. It started out as her father and ended up as his mother; two loving individuals who made wrong-headed choices but can't go back now. He doesn't want to think about his mother any more.

Kate hasn't finished the story; she says she only made it through the first scene. Castle doesn't push her because he knows. He gets it. He's not sure what makes him think it will do any good for her to read it. And the questions that will come up because of it, because of the honesty he can't help but put into every story, those are questions he doesn't want to answer.

Not tonight.

"I have a surprise for you," he says instead.

"More?"

Castle chuckles and releases her from his hold, the two of them not exactly drifting apart but swaying there, not quite touching. "More. I made an appointment a couple days ago for us, for today."

She raises an eyebrow; he sees the panic in her eyes but it confuses him.

"An appointment?" Kate lifts her hand and touches his waist, a point of contact that jolts him down to his bones. "Castle. . .I don't know. . .I thought you said six months?"

Ah. Right. He grins, staying absolutely still so that her hand won't move away. "Not that. Something fun. A bookstore."

She tilts her head; Castle's stomach flutters when her thumb unconsciously starts skating across his skin. "An appointment for a bookstore?"

He nods, breathless with wanting her, turned on in an instant, by a thumb's brief encounter with his hip. He can't move; his mind is crowded with images, a writer's details, the feel of her that he knows, has memorized, has cauterized his soul. He wants to bury himself in her.

"Castle? What're you talking about?"

He blinks and the haze clears slowly, a kind of tunnel vision leading straight to her amused eyes. "Bookstore."

"I got that much, stud." Oh, ho. Really? So she knows exactly what she's doing then, doesn't she? Letting her thumb stroke across his hipbone like it's nothing, like it's an unconscious connection between them. When really it's a brand, a claim.

Rick catches her up against him in a sudden move, locking her head into place with both hands, then takes her mouth, driving her back as he does. Her shoulders hit the bookcase first, then he's nestled against her hips, cradled by her shape, sucking on her tongue as she rocks against him.

She breaks away from his mouth to breathe, moans when he nips at her chin, traces wet patterns to her ear. Castle nudges her thighs apart with his legs, feels her knee draw up, her foot hooking around the back of his calf. He sucks on her neck, just at her collarbone, to the soft space right above her breast; her hands twist in his shirt, her body rising to meet his.

"Books?" she gasps, her tongue tickling his ear.

He grunts, not hearing her but hearing something, a voice that could be reciting the phone book and still turn him on, pitched low like that, thrilling.

"What time? How much time?" she asks, with his earlobe between her teeth, that voice throaty and wild.

He bucks against her, unable to help himself. "Enough."

* * *

><p>The Brazen Head isn't a bookstore so much as an apartment filled with books in which book lovers might find that one rare gem to add to their own apartment's shelves filled with books. Michael Seidenberg's 84th Street apartment houses a creaking home's worth of used books, available by appointment only. Or rather, a 'call-ahead' agreement.<p>

Castle holds her hand as they trek up the stairs. She feels his giddiness bouncing around in the narrow stairwell. "It's a secret?"

"It's a secret," he confirms, taking the steps two at a time. She likes the feeling of his large hand cradling her slender fingers. When they'd been buzzed in, Kate had seen this look on his face before, the same look he got when she pulled her shirt off over her head only a few hours ago. Triumphant. Adoring. "Like a speakeasy for books," he says, not even out of breath.

"Only for published authors?"

"No. For everyone. All of New York. If only they knew."

"Why don't they know?" she asks, lengthening her stride to keep up with him. He opens the stair door and holds it for her.

"They don't look. You know what he told me when I called?" His hand around hers twitches, pulls her through the door.

"What, Castle?"

"Come find me, visit me. And I'm yours." His grin is wide, marvelous, infectious. She grins back.

"Let's go find him then," she says and passes him into the hallway. Castle squeezes her hand and nudges her down the narrow corridor to the apartment door, taps on it.

And. It's an apartment. It's books on top of books, an Everest of books. Meticulously arranged, white shelves and white wainscoting and random lamps, whiskey bottles on shelves, postcards propped up, stacks of paperbacks, and vintage covers. The man who has opened the door finally catches her attention.

"I'm Michael. Welcome to Brazen Head Books."

"Richard Castle. My wife, Kate Beckett."

Kate extends her hand and the white-bearded man grins, his grip firm from handling books. He's shorter than her by an inch or so, but his presence is large, affable. His teeth are yellow and his free hand holds a pipe.

"Welcome. I'll admit, Mr. Castle-"

"Call me Rick."

"Rick." A wide grin as he ushers them inside. Kate can't help but dart her eyes around, searching the books, roaming over titles, taking in the sheer volume. "When I got your call, I looked you up. I've read one of your Storm novels. But that's the only one. What's your suggestion for which one I should read next?"

Kate feels Castle settle next to her, like he's been gentled. She risks a look at him, hardly able to tear her eyes off the books, the amazing quantity of books, and Castle is grinning.

"I like you already," Castle says. "The Storm series is a good one, but the ones based on my wife are better."

Kate meets Michael's eyes and the man grins, flashing those yellow teeth. When he speaks, his voice is low, Brooklyn-accented, easy-going. "I bet they are. I'll give them a try. We've got one of them here."

"So can we browse, do we need a tour?" Kate says. "How does this work?"

Michael's denim shirt is open by a couple buttons; he's wearing sandals on with khaki pants. He gestures around him. "It's all labeled, organized into sections. Russian fiction, New York letters, romance, mass paperbacks. Whatever you're looking for. Are you two collectors? I've got a back room of rare and first editions-"

Castle glances at her, and Kate shakes her head. "We're not collectors. We're readers."

Michael laughs and puts his hand on her shoulder, ushering them past him in the limited space of his foyer. "My favorite kind. Feel free to roam around. It used to be my apartment, but it's just a bookstore now."

Just a bookstore. Kate leads the way, half-listening as Castle asks eager questions of the older man who follows them. He invites Castle to a salon on Thursday night, later in the week, suggesting that they might like to hear some local authors, talk about good literature, get a nice buzz going with like-minded people. Maybe that's the whiskey bottles on the shelves.

And it's wonderfully appealing. Kate, still with Castle's hand in hers, squeezes and raises her eyebrow at him, her head turned over her shoulder. Castle quirks a grin at her and accepts the invitation for Thursday, releasing her hand as they go their separate ways.

She's halfway listening, halfway absorbed by the books. Who Designs America? Noel Coward plays. Motherless Brooklyn, signed by the author. Photographs of someone who can only be a 70s Michael Seidenberg, holding court in a different bookshop with various, almost-famous people. Cracked leatherbound edition of Sabina: A Story of the Amish, roses and vines bordering the spine, alongside its companion Tillie: A Mennonite Maid, by the same author.

The windows are blocked with books, but there's plenty of lamplight to illuminate titles. Fire code violations abound, but Kate chooses not to see. A man selling books out of his residence is illegal anyway, but the books. . .

Paperback Mary Stewart, with the psychedelic jaguar for Touch Not the Cat on the cover. One of her favorites from the years right before her mother died. Kate reaches out and pulls it from the stack, being careful to keep the books from tumbling. She glances at the section label taped to the shelf: Gothic romance.

Oh, so many of the books she devoured as an 18 year old. A man in glasses, skinny jeans, and a striped shirt holds a dusty, green-leather, gold-leafed book as he passes her, heading towards a section marked New York History. She looks back at the Gothics, Victoria Holt, Erskine Caldwell (which she wouldn't have shelved there), Phyllis Whitney, Barbara Michaels. . .

Kate touches the spines, the feel of yellow paper and cheap, crumbling paperboard. It smells of degrading ink and libraries. Castle had let loose of her hand to roam, but she feels him on just the other side, hears Michael and Rick still discussing the fate of the used bookstore.

She steps through a white doorway, the doors removed long ago, the glass panels to either side gleaming, and finds shelves of Russian fiction. Her heart beats fast, running her fingers over some of her favorite titles, some she's not even head of before, some in dust jackets she's never seen. This was her existence for a year of college, before the burden of tragedy; the Cryillic letters shiver into a language she remembers so well. Russian literature was too tragic for her, though, after her mother's death.

What intrigues her the most are the books she's never seen: Russian science fiction. The Enclaves, History of the Galaxy, Death or Glory, Alice Girl of the Future. Kate picks up the last one and discovers it is a series of stories for children. She pages through it, delighted to be able to read in Russian the encounters of Alisa as she searches for the Third Captain throughout the galaxy.

Kate shelves the book and continues on through the room, hoping that Castle has brought money with him. She's got her phone and id and a credit card on the wristlet that's hanging from her elbow, but she'd been picturing a bookstore, not a man's apartment.

Rick finds her first, evidently having escaped from Michael's enthusiastic soapbox about New York real estate. He presses a kiss to her cheek; he's always so tactile when he's energized, excited. Kate catches his arm as he moves past her.

"Did you bring cash with you?"

"Looking for a sugar daddy?" he asks, wagging his eyebrows at her.

"Most definitely," she says, letting a grin curve her lips. Because he's almost just unbearably handsome, Kate darts forward and kisses him back, her body already humming again, his lips surprised but warm, willing.

"I got about a hundred on me," he says quietly, a hand at her hip now.

"Mm, good. I have a mental list. And I've only gotten through about two of these rooms."

"Did you see his science fiction?"

"Did you see the mystery section?" she asks instead.

He grins. "You know I checked that out first. He's actually got two of mine. Heat Wave and Rose."

"You sign them?" she says, pressed close to him in the narrow space, not minding a bit.

"Oh. You know, he didn't ask, and honestly, it didn't occur to me. I saw that Stephen King new one, you know, Under the Dome? I have to get that one."

"That was in mystery?"

"Ah, no. I got distracted. He's a great guy, isn't he? He talks a lot."

She smiles back at him. "Yeah. Go sign them for him-"

"You sign the Nikki book, yeah?"

Kate frowns at him and shakes her head. Castle keeps trying to get her to come to book signings with him, sign these novels like she's what people want, what they're lining up to see. "No. Give it up. They're your books, Castle."

"The fans want your signature too, Kate. You know that. Makes the books more valuable to Michael if he can show that both of us-"

She shoves on his shoulder. "If he asks, I will. If not, leave it alone."

"Want some money then?" he says, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. His movement brings his chest flush against hers and she sways into him, heat and lethargy settling over her like a spell.

"Mm, wait until we're done. We can check out together."

He puts the wallet back and slides an arm around her waist, brushing a kiss to her temple. "Books and Kate Beckett. Soooo sexy," he moans.

She blushes, slaps at his wandering hand. "Not in this man's apartment, Castle. Seriously."

"It's a bookstore. Not his apartment."

"Less appropriate. Now go. Browse." She slips away from him, heading for the section he's just left, feeling his hand brush along her waist as she does.

"Yes, ma'am," he murmurs, but when she glances back, his eyes are already trailing along the books, caught up.

She eases her way around another waist-high stack of hardbacks, and finds herself in the science fiction.

Kate takes in a deep breath of words and visions. Browses with her fingertips and her eyes, searching for something, a discovery, an unfolding flower. She's surprised at how wonderful this day has turned out. How Castle can bring to her, like a gift, so much joy.


	72. Chapter 72

It takes him awhile, but Rick eventually shakes off his distraction (all due to her), and finds himself lost in the treasure trove of books in this man's apartment store. He goes back to sign his own two, writes a note about how great the place is on the title page, and shelves them again. Michael is beaming at him, so Kate gets a point for that suggestion.

He moves on, heading in the opposite direction of his partner, like they're clearing the rooms, one by one. He finds that allusion amusing and smiles to himself, half paying attention to the shelves. Bookcases line the walls, stacks of paperbacks, hardbacks, assortments of fiction, nonfiction. A dim lamp shows him the layout of the room he's in now, wide and long, with low shelves and a little bit of sunlight peering through a high window. Children's tales, old favorites and lots of shiny, new ones. A whiskey bottle even here, which makes him smile.

Kate has this one: Caddie Woodlawn. She found it in a box of books she unpacked at his loft, back when she was about seven months pregnant. Castle remembers her face when she found that book. . .like a balm for him, because she looked like she was looking forward to sharing that children's book with her own child. Their child. She gave it to Alexis, because the girl in the book, Caddie, has red hair that the Indians love to play with. A story about the colonies. He can't remember now if Aleixs read it. Probably so, because Alexis tends to do whatever Kate suggests, like a lovesick puppy.

Like himself.

Shaking that thought away, he grabs a slim, hardback volume covered in plastic, a former library copy. Clone Catcher by Alfred Slote. He remembers reading Slote's sports books when he was small, envying their natural athleticism and their happy-to-coach fathers. He hadn't realized Slote wrote science fiction for kids though. This one is also a detective story, about a man looking for a pair of run away clones. Interesting. He'll keep it.

He finds an illustrated Little Prince with the beautiful blue cover, the watercolor little boy standing alone on a planet with small volcanoes. How Alexis loved this book. He's not sure where her copy is now, probably at college with her; he should borrow it to read to Dash.

It surges up in him, then, how he and Dash might one day share books between them, just like he and Alexis do now. Castle will have to read Harry Potter to him at night before bed (before he ever sees the movies), and Dash will beg for Lord of the Rings before he's old enough to really understand it. What else?

Castle will give him Hitchhiker's Guide and the Asimov Foundation series and Marvel comic books. Let Kate give him all those DC Comics, with their moralistic high ground and their American boy scouts. Rick will show him how people are made into heroes, not born that way. A man must decide to step up, to make something of himself.

Still, he's a fan of both Marvel's Spider-Man and DC's Super Man. Contrasting characters, yet the-

Castle is bumped from behind by a man-boy in a striped shirt, reading as he walks. His nose is stuck in Sherlock Holmes Was Wrong: Re-opening the Case of the "Hound of the Baskervilles". Wait. What?

Castle follows along behind the skinny-jeans-wearing man-child, reading over his shoulder when he can. Interpreting clues in context. Cleared of wrong-doing. What? Hypocrisy. How can Doyle not know the killer in his own book?

Castle has got to read this book. Pierre Bayard. Looks new. The name is familiar too. He wrote something about talking about books you've never read. French professor or something. Kate might like this one too, come to think of it-

"Do you mind?" The striped-shirt has turned around to give him the stink eye. For a kid with square black glasses and a scarf on (or maybe an ascot?), his voice is strangely deep. And he gives a good stink eye.

Castle holds up both hands. "Sorry. Just. Admiring the book."

"I bet you were. I don't swing your way, buddy. You wanna-"

Castle chuckles. "I'm here with my wife. And that book, it really does look like something good. Any other copies? And what section did you find that in?"

"My bad." Striped-shirt eyes him carefully. "It was lying in a stack of paperbacks near the Lit Crit."

"The uh. . .lick what?"

"Literature Criticism." Striped-shirt enunciates each vowel with a clear disdain. Castle had been thinking how unpretentious this little apartment store was, but now, the pretension has come back full force. He's expecting to hear, 'Do I stutter?', at any moment.

Castle raises an eyebrow at the kid, but backs away, nodding to Michael who has come around the corner.

But Michael lunges forward and yanks the book out of Striped-shirt's hands, pushes it towards Castle. "Really, Jovan? Get going."

The kid glares for a second, and Castle catches the book being thrust into his chest, eyebrows furrowed. "No. Wait. That's not-"

"That's my nephew. Don't mind him. He's a douche."

Castle bursts into laughter, knocked back on his heels by Michael's flippant attitude. "Well. Uh. Thanks?"

"He roams around here all day, his nose in a book, not looking where he's going. I had a tourist in here two days ago, swore up and down that Jovan had picked her pocket. He hadn't of course. Just can't watch where he's going, the jackass."

Castle, a little bewildered, watches Michael disappear behind a stack, muttering to himself, heading for the center of the apartment no doubt, and whatever might serve as a register. Castle stands in the narrow walkway between New York History and the children's books, the paperback in his hands.

He holds it up, takes a long look at it. The pages are turned down to the good passages, and the back cover gives a brief synopsis from a Publisher's Weekly review. Detective criticism. Huh. He's definitely getting this book.

Castle heads further into the labyrinth, stopping every now and then, feeling like he's hit the theme for this bookstore. He likes to buy on a theme when he's just browsing books; he wants to support independent bookstores like this one when he can, and he's the kind of reader who wants to gobble up all the different aspects of one subject, fiction or nonfiction. He knows that Kate, on the other hand, likes for her purchases to be meaningful, to help mark down a place and a time, to act as a memorial or icon.

Castle makes a stack that he carries against his chest. A nonfiction tome about the real forensic science behind Sherlock Holmes (Kate might like it, but he's not sure if she's even read Doyle). Then Close to Holmes, which purports to be a guide to the historical London of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's time. Which sends him on something of a tear through the London travel section, where he came up with On Travel by Charles Dickens, which he didn't even know existed, and which isn't at all about traveling in London, but Italy.

Dickens was good friends with Wilkie Collins, and so Castle finds himself with another Collins story, The Legacy of Cain (that author is credited with writing the first mystery novel). He's excited about Wilkie. Castle has a small little collection of Wilkie Collins novels, and he finds them dense and intriguing at the same time: a hard candy coating of social commentary with sensational murder filling. Delicious. He might have gotten that backward, because maybe it's the detective story that's the hard candy shell? Regardless, Collins has some staying power, and his mystery novels are genius, even if Collins was opium-addled and psychotic for much of his later life.

Castle doubts his own novels will ever be called classics, but he would like to write something that might change someone's mind, that might reveal a truth that polite society would like to remain hidden. Castle writes about murder because people so often want to cover it up, hide it, deny that crime happens on their street, in their town. Not in my backyard. But his murders don't seem to say anything once the sheet is pulled away from their faces; the have no story to tell, no real commentary or soapbox.

Wilkie Collins was both a bestseller, if the term can apply, and also a man with something to say.

Sometimes Richard Castle isn't sure he *has* anything to say. When he writes, oh, it's almost a guaranteed bestseller, sure, but maybe the best that can be said about it is that the good guys win.

Winning is good, true. Vital? No.

Castle catches sight of Kate ahead of him, a stack of books of her own, and it hits him.

Maybe Richard Castle's life works are not vital to anyone else. But they are to her. They were her. . .lifeline after her mother's death. She clung to his mysteries like a drowning man clings to driftwood.

He doesn't know the full story, but he knows that she needs his words, his stories. And if Kate Beckett is the only one who finds literary merit in his detective fiction, then that's better than any Nobel Prize for Literature.

Castle comes up behind her and dumps his stack of books onto the table before them, grinning at her. "What'd you find?"

"Lots," she says, grinning back at him. "I hope you've got more money on you."

She's so beautiful. And so much smarter than him sometimes; her mind works on a hundred different channels, all these layers of information, bringing every detail together to create the perfect picture, leap-frogging from clue to clue until she's lands on the right one. And not only solving crimes, but figuring out their kid, and dealing with his mood swings, and paying attention to his writing needs.

Wow. She's his wife.

Kate Beckett is his wife.


	73. Chapter 73

This is the best part about shopping with Rick; he loves sharing books too. Kate spreads out her collection on top of the desk sitting in the middle of the poetry section, bumping into his hip to nudge him over.

"Here's mine," she says. She lets her fingers brush the spine of the Alice book: the science fiction children's story.

"I did a theme," Castle says back, like a challenge. She's already heard all about his theme, and she loves it. Wilkie Collins is a new one for her; she can't wait to get back to the loft and pull out The Moonstone. Castle has talked it up so much.

"I have something better."

"It can't get any better than a theme, Detective." He smirks at her, leaning a hip against the table like he's not scared.

"Oh, it can. It does." She touches the book on the bottom. "I shop using narrative techniques."

His lips quirk, like he's going to give her a patronizing smile, and then his face transforms. "You do not."

"I do."

"It's not possible."

"It is."

"Give me an example. No wait, give me an example you *didn't* use today, and let me see if I can get it without you telling me."

"Sure. Easy." She bites her lip and watches his face: incredulity and arousal in equal degrees. Kate Beckett and books, right? "_In medias res_."

Castle huffs. "In the middle of things. The technique where you start telling a story in the middle of it, and let the reader figure out what's already happened. Either through flashback or context. Context is harder to do, I have to say. But browsing a book store-"

"I did that one in a library, actually," she interrupts. "The Chicago Public Library."

"So this is a thing then."

"A way to make it memorable. It makes me think, makes it hard to forget."

"So you tell a story when you browse? Is that what you're saying?"

"In a way. The story of my life at that time, I guess," she explains, her fingers still on the books before her. "But, I also try to pick books that use that technique too. So I guess both."

Castle tilts his head and looks down at the books on the table. "_In medias res_ would be easy then. Because you'd just get books about your life at the current time: in the middle of it."

"Well. Yes. True. But the idea is to have the story jump right into things, right? So I picked books that were a little bit. . .exciting. Intimate too, because they told so much about me."

Castle's eyebrows have knit under his forehead, but she can tell he's thinking. "What did you get in the Chicago Public Library?"

"I wasn't interested in the police force at that point in time, so my books were all about motorcycle maintenance and the joy of sex-"

Castle gasps and his bright, happy eyes startle into meeting hers. "Oh, you didn't." He snags her hips, pulls her close.

She grins, receives a forceful, hot kiss, teeth clashing, and fists her free hand in his shirt. "Mm."

"You're a tease," he whispers, his fingers hooking in the waistband of her jeans.

"You gonna let me finish?"

"All right, Professor. Carry on." Castle steps back, putting a cooling distance between them.

That'll never work.

She brushes her finger along her lips, smiling softly at him. "Well, I've also done stream of consciousness."

"Oh come on," he complains, frowning at her. "That would be easy too!"

She shrugs. "I didn't say it was hard to do. I just said I'd done it."

"All right, okay. Enough. I've heard enough. Let me see here what you've got," he says, nudging her away from the books.

She's nervous, which is stupid, but this is still Richard Castle inspecting her reading list. It's almost as bad as her father reading her college application essay that she'd written about him. She puts her hands behind her back and watches him study the books.

She had to go back for the Alice book, because it held dreams and nostalgia both, even if she'd never read it as a kid. It's in Russian, so Castle won't have any idea of it's meaning, but he *is* flipping through the pages and looking at the pictures. A little girl, her father telling her a story, a planet, the galaxy, the search for the Third Captain. Maybe it's enough.

No. He'll never get it. It was difficult to do because she started with that one book and had to scramble around to make some things fit.

Next is the Jonathan Safran Foer book that she's been wanting to get for ages, but just couldn't find the right place to purchase it, the correct emotional environment to place it within. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is narrated by a little boy who's father dies in the Twin Towers, and his quest to find the lock that fits the key he discovered in his father's closet. She's never been able to finish it, but she think she can now.

Alice, Foer, and now he's frowning and rubbing his fingers over the paperback copy of Children of Men by P.D. James. "How many of these have you read?"

"Half," she answers honestly. "Sometimes I don't buy a book until I'm in a good place."

"Emotionally?"

Kate chews on her lip and shakes her head. "No. I mean. . .a good store? Like here, this is a great place to attach to a book. Or three weeks ago, when we took Dashiell to Barnes & Noble and he played with the train set and we took turns browsing?"

"You bought five Graham Greene books," he says, smiling softly at her. "Narrative technique?"

"No. Not that time. Just. . .happiness. Spy thrillers, the two of us meeting back up to rendezvous, Graham Greene. It fits."

Castle grins wider.

She crosses her arms and leans against the shelf of African-American poetry. "And you picked up those Dexter books."

He laughs. "I just wanted to read them. No special memories attached there."

"I hope not," she says. "He's a psychopath."

"With a moral code," Castle grumbles. "And the books are way more hilarious than the tv show."

"I'll keep that in mind. Back to my browsing."

"Yes. Let's see. Nick Hornby. Oh he's good. He's really good. Have you read About a Boy before?"

She nods. "And I saw the movie."

"Oh, and this is a children's book-" He holds up A Wrinkle in Time by L'Engle.

"No. Young adult." She reaches for it and puts it back on the table, back in place. She can feel Castle watching her.

"You've read that one too."

"Yes."

"Means you haven't read these others."

She glances over at the ones he's referring to, wonders if this was such a smart idea in the first place. "No."

Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons. Angela's Ashes. Flannery O'Connor's The Violent Bear It Away. Collins young adult novel, Hunger Games.

"These are kinda heavy, Kate."

"It was just. . .a mood," she says. Still, watching Castle touch the books she wants, like he knows their secrets, makes her think he knows her secrets as well. And that he might know how to tell them to her.

"All your picks tell a story all right," he says. "A missing father. Drunk. But you love him."

She nods once. That takes care of Angela's Ashes, A Wrinkle in Time, and Ellen Foster.

"A search?" he says quietly. "A child's search. A child's search for her father, or something her father did or said sent her on the search." Alice. Extremely Loud. Wrinkle in Time.

Kate hands him Children of Men, watches the frown come back to his face. He flips it over to read the back. "I don't know about this one. Have you read it?"

"No. I saw the movie."

He groans, trying to make her smile of course. She does, just for him.

"Never see a movie before you read the book," he admonishes.

She taps Hunger Games. "Planning on it."

He grins back. "I'm telling you. The whole series is amazing. A-Mazing."

"Stop trying to divert my attention. What's the literary technique I'm using?"

"I don't know." He shrugs, pouts at her a little. "A clue?"

"No way. You figure it out on your own." She lets her fingers spread over the O'Connor novel. The beautiful purple and blue and gold peacock feather stylized on the front cover. Her fingers trace the lines.

"It's something about your dad," he says gently. "But I don't know the rest."

"You give up?"

He grumbles for a second. "I give up."

"It's a frame story," she says, grinning at him. "I stumped you."

"A frame story? Like in Wuthering Heights?"

She nods. "I love that book. Telling a story through another story."

"So what's the frame here?"

"The story of me and my father," she says, arranging the books in a row. "How much I loved him. How he left me because of his alcoholism. How I hated it, hated him. How he came back."

"Oh. Oh, wow," Castle breathes, his hand coming up to squeeze her neck in the that way she hates. She shrugs out from it but doesn't step away from him.

"And what story does the frame tell?"

"That. . .that my dad has found something to live for," she says, but her voice cracks and she can't look at Castle. The Violent Bear It Away.

"Kate."

She shakes her head. "It's not me. It shouldn't ever have been me. I'm not enough."

"Kate," he tries again, and she feels his hand settle against her hip.

She can do that, a hand at her waist. "No one should ever live for someone else. People are people: flawed and not loyal and damaged. No one should ever have the burden of being another person's reason for living."

"And yet," he prompts.

"And yet, I want. . .I want to be enough for him." She frowns at herself, narrows her eyes past the choke of emotion.

"You have been, Kate."

"And now?"

"And now there's more than just you and your dad," he says simply. His fingers brush her hipbone, his body is close. But it's comforting. "There's more than your two-person circle."

"Who else is there? This woman at the preschool-?"

"No. There's me. There's Alexis. Dashiell, most importantly. There's a whole family of people crowding in on you and your dad."

Kate blinks and watches the way her fingers tremble against the spine of the book she loves the most. A Wrinkle In Time. Love winning out. Love destroying It, that unnamed evil darkness that wanted to stamp out all the creativity, the joy from life. Meg has to rescue her father in that book.

Kate rescued hers. And now. . .

Why is she so angry at him for using the life she rescued?

She's already broken their grief with Castle; allowing people into their world, just their two, has allowed her father to bring people in as well. But there's no other choice for it.

"If I read enough," she says, stepping closer to Castle. "If I read enough maybe I'll learn how to do that."

She snakes both arms around his waist and lower, sliding her palms down. She feels Castle hook an arm around her neck, which she hates, but his stance is lose and his arm not heavy. She dips her fingers into his back pocket and easily filches his wallet.

When she steps back, she's holding up his credit card. Castle yelps in surprise and reaches for his empty pocket. A few people shush them but Castle slaps his hand over nothing, feeling air.

"You took my wallet!"

"Time to pay, Castle." She grins, throwing him a glance over her shoulder that he immediately obeys.

He's got all of their books in his hands, a tall stack, and they head for the middle of the store and Michael's stool where he writes their receipts.

"Just call me Sugar Daddy," Castle mutters. She looks back to give him a glare, but his face splits into a wide grin. "Oh look, another theme. Daddies."

She pokes his pectoralis muscle and jerks her head to the books in his arms. "And daughters."

_Hint, hint._

Castle sighs. "Six months, Kate. Just wait it out patiently, will ya?"

Never gonna happen.


	74. Chapter 74

He carries their books in her bag, not letting her take it back. She keeps glancing at her watch.

"Relax. Alexis is staying the night with us, she said," Castle mentions, lacing his fingers through hers to keep her from looking at that watch again. "We get a date night."

She smiles at him. "Is that what this is? Date night at the bookstore?"

"Your kind of date night, isn't it?" he grins, because he knows her. Oh so well.

Kate glances at his sly look, unable to refute him. "You feed me next, Castle, and this will be exactly my kind of date night. You might even get lucky."

"You're on," he says immediately, because he'd planned on dinner anyway, and a promise like that is too good to pass up.

Since they are still standing outside Michael's apartment building, he takes the risk of pressing his lips to her cheek in a pleased kiss, and she chuckles at him, throwing him a look. Her fingers squeeze around his and she bumps his hip. It makes him happy, stupid happy, and he wants to do stupid things, immature things, like suck on her neck until it leaves a mark that everyone will see or even wrap both his arms around her waist and cradle her against his body and somehow walk the rest of the way like that.

Yeah, neither idea would work out in his favor, and at least age and experience have given him something like wisdom.

So Castle settles for just one more kiss at her jawline, nipping at her skin, and then keeps his hand in hers, tugging her down the sidewalk.

"How about the Grill? It's around here somewhere," he suggests. The Grill was Madison's find one evening when they'd first tried getting together; her former chef had opened up a stir fry place that was always crazy busy. It's been awhile since Kate and Madison have hung out, so maybe Castle should suggest it. Maybe.

But Kate doesn't like to be prodded. So maybe not.

"Oh perfect. I've been craving Chinese ever since Nathan's Hot Dogs."

"Why does a hot dog make you crave Chinese?"

Kate grins. "Don't know. Just does. Let's go. I want some of that sweet and sour pork."

"Ohh," he groans, flashing her a look over his shoulder as he snakes his way through the crowds. "That stuff is amazing. I added tomatoes last time, and that was just. . ."

"Amazing?" she teases, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," he says indignantly, and muscles through a tight-knit group of tourists. He clears a path with the breadth of his shoulders, and Kate seems content to let him. It makes him happy.

It also makes him happy when he manages to lead them directly to the restaurant without a single wrong turn. He pulls open the door and walks through, remembering just in time that Kate doesn't like it when he holds the door for her. She says if he gets to the door first, then he goes in first. Shouldn't be different for either of them. He understands the idea, but it's still hard to undo a lifetime's worth of training.

She bumps into him when he steps into the dimly lit place, pushing him out of the way of traffic. Another couple has come in behind them, so Castle steps up to the hostess's podium and gives them Kate's name.

She's already sitting on a short bench just beside the door when he turns around, leaning back on her hands, her hair falling just past her shoulders. While he loves it long, loves the way it waves and curls, the thickness of it in his hand, he thinks every time she does something different to it that this, *this*, is his favorite.

He sits down beside her and traces the curve of her ear with his fingers, brushing her hair back. She's straightened it, so of course it falls back into place, but he just-

"Castle, hands off," she mutters, rolling her eyes.

Right. She complains that it makes her hair greasy when he touches it too much. "It's just so. . .pretty."

"Okay, Lennie Small, I *will* hurt you," she says, but there's no heat in her voice, not a bit of it.

He drops his jaw. "You just pulled out an Of Mice and Men reference. You rock."

Kate lifts an eyebrow at him and looks pointedly at their bag of books, as if to say, _No duh_. She pulls the rubber band off her wrist and puts her hair back though. Wisps escape, framing her face, and Castle can't help brushing it back, letting his fingertips trail along her skin. She huffs at him, narrowing her eyes.

"So hurt me," he murmurs and drops a kiss to the side of her mouth.

"Just wait, buddy," she whispers, her lips moving against his, but her tongue is touching his skin and making him shiver.

"Beckett? Party of two? Beckett-"

Castle jumps up, nods to the hostess. "That's us." He feels Kate getting up behind him, and they follow the woman back to a two-seater against the wall. The hostess is giving him strange looks, which means he's been recognized (or he has a piece of broccoli in his teeth: that happened one time too).

He pulls Kate's chair out for her, winces when she shoots him a look, but shrugs it off. Old habits die hard. She knows that by now. She's been trying to break him, but he doesn't break easily.

"Your waiter is Marco. He'll be right with you. What can I get you to drink in the meantime?"

Castle glances to Kate but she shakes her head. "I'll have a root beer?"

"Water for me," Kate answers, giving the hostess a soft smile. So Kate can tell that the hostess knows who he is as well. It's an offering she rarely extends, an invitation unspoken that the fan can ask-

And she does. "Are you. . .Richard Castle, the author? And Nikki Heat?"

Castle smiles, but braces himself at the mention of the fictional character. Short answer or long answer? He goes with short, to try to get this over with. "Yes, and you are?"

"Oh. Oh, I'm a huge fan. I mean. My name's Sloane. Named for the movie, Ferris Bueller, yeah. Anyway, my dad loves your books and he made me read the Storm series, but. . .I mean, well, they were good of course, but I really love the Nikki Heat books. I really, really love them."

Castle grins. "Well, Sloane, thank you. Tell your father thank you for me as well. And Ferris Bueller is an awesome movie."

"Is it-I mean, I guess it's true that you're married? After writing books about. . .I'm sorry, I've forgotten your real name," Sloane blushes, having the decency to look appalled for not remembering.

Castle tenses, but Kate only shakes the girl's proffered hand, smiling in that gentle way. Like she does when she talks to a victim. "Kate Beckett."

"You're a detective, right? Is that. . .is that hard to get into? I mean, I've been thinking for awhile now that I should major in criminal law, or criminal justice, but I also wanted to do forensics for awhile, only I can't make up my mind-"

"You're interested in the police force?" Kate says, sitting up a little.

Castle grins, being careful to keep it hidden from Kate. She's suddenly a lot more interested in the girl, isn't she?

"Yeah. I'm a pretty good shot my dad says. You think I could do it?"

"I think you have to pretty tough. Able to take a lot of hazing, as well as stomach being at the scene of a crime. Some crazy stuff goes on in this city." Kate warns the girl with a brief look to Castle.

"I've got three older brothers. Does that count?"

Castle chuckles. "Could. Pretty good practice, I'd say."

Kate smiles as well. "Best way to figure out which career you want to go into is to spend some time as an intern or volunteer in those places. Shadow someone in forensics or on the police force."

"Oh. I never thought of that. I could do that. I don't know when though. This job keeps me kinda busy, really busy; I've got 35 hours this week and classes-"

"Just an idea," Kate says.

"Ooh, my boss is giving me the evil eye. Look, let me get your drinks real quick. Be right back," Sloane says and darts away before they can say anything else.

"Sorry, Kate," Castle says immediately.

"No, no," she says, shaking her head with a dramatic sigh. "I'm resigned to being Nikki Heat forever."

He reaches across the table and traps one of her hands. "Not to me."

Her eyes are gentle again when she looks at him. "All that matters."

"We can take it to go-" he starts, but they're interrupted by their waiter slapping a wad of napkins onto their table.

"Hey there, folks. I'm Mito. And Sloane is running her mouth back there, so be prepared, yeah?"

Castle laughs out loud at that and grins at the kid. "Thank you, sir, for the warning."

"No problem. I have no idea who you are, so let's get down to it. Have you been to the Grill before?"

"We have," Kate says, quirking her lips at Castle, indicating with that tilt of her head that she wants to stay, despite his getting recognized.

"Then you are good to go then. Here are your bowls. Get in line and your drinks will be here when you get back. And probably Sloane too. I can talk to the manager if you like."

Castle shakes his head and gives Mito a slap on the back as he stands up. "Thanks. I think Sloane's all right, really."

"No problem," Mito says, nodding his curly head as he heads off.

"He looks like Dash," Kate remarks, taking up her metal bowl as she stands.

"He does?"

"Dark, curly hair. Same kinda look in his eyes too." Kate goes ahead of him to the line in front of the grill, tapping the bowl against her leg. "Like he's in his own world half the time. Running."

"Ha. Okay. Are you getting the shrimp with yours?"

"Ew, no. You know I can't stand the way it looks when it's raw." Kate taps his chest with the bottom of her bowl as they wait behind a couple of people before the grill.

The buffet-style set-up allows each person to pick and choose what goes into their stir fry; a wide variety of meats, vegetables, herbs, and sauces await their selection. Kate always goes by the recipe cards, but he likes changing it up, putting in strange things. Last time they came here, he put tofu in his. It wasn't any good, but Kate liked it well enough to switch meals with him.

"What are you getting?" she says.

"You're just going to blow right by that whole thing back there?" he asks, grinning at her.

"What? Mito, the Dash-look-alike, or your biggest fan?"

"You're my biggest fan," he says, bumping her with his hip so that she'll move up in the line. She slides forward, linking her hand with his to drag him along, then shifts slightly so that her shoulder touches his.

"You got that right," she says, brushing their joined hands against him so that he gives an involuntarily yelp.

The man in front of them gives Castle a strange look and Kate chuckles low under her breath.

"You tease," he says softly, watching her glittering eyes.

"Your biggest fan," she murmurs back, just too sexy for words.

Okay, so he deserved that. "You're still avoiding the issue."

"Not an issue, Castle," she says back. "So you're a famous author who gets noticed all the time? Oh wait. You *don't* get noticed all the time. Once in the last. . .three months, if I remember right. I can deal."

He chuffs a laugh and regards her amused expression. "Well, don't spare my feelings-"

"Your ego is big enough to handle it. And mine is big enough to handle being called Nikki Heat, you stud, so don't worry about me." She reaches up and pats his cheek rather dismissively, but then lifts her chin to kiss him. "You know I love you. The total package."

"Did you just say I'm the total package?" he grins, nudging her forward in the line again.

She laughs, sliding forward again and reaching for the tongs, looking at him with sauciness in her eyes. "Not. . .I'll deny it if you repeat that."

"I'm soooo telling everyone."

"Who you gonna tell, Castle? Who do you know?"

"Everyone."

"Uh-huh." She packs pulled pork into the bottom of her bowl, shakes on some lemon herb stuff while he just watches her. "You got no one. Your mom, Castle?"

"And Alexis. And Dash. And Ryan. And Esposito. And Lanie-"

She reaches the veggies as he starts piling his bowl with meat. "Like they don't already know."

"So you're all talking about me in the precinct, then? About me being the total package? Yeah, I can see that."

She laughs again, her eyes like a nightsky filled with stars, sparkling. "Yeah, I admit it. We don't get any murders solved. We just gossip like school girls about your package."

Castle trips over his own shoes as he slides forward for the spices, jerking his head to look at Kate. Of course she's joking. But in the instant she said it, he got this crazy mental image of her and Lanie and Karpowski huddled over coffee in the break room, sharing knowing looks with Kate.

"Gotcha," she says with a sly smile. "I'm finished here. You?"

"Oh, we are far from finished, Kate Beckett." He steps in close, forgetting vegetables, sauce, all of that looking at her.

"Tomatoes, Castle. Or you'll ruin your perfect concoction." She nudges his elbow and walks off, leaving her bowl with the guys at the grill, taking the number they give her.

Castle hurriedly pours veggies on top of the meat in his bowl, broccoli and tomatoes and some water chestnuts, watching Kate from the corner of his eye as she makes her way back to their table. She has every guy's head turning to follow her, and half the women watching as well.

He plops his bowl down on the counter in front of the grill, asks for rice with his, and takes the number card. Then he follows Kate back, thrilled.

Date night is going to be awesome.


	75. Chapter 75

Kate probably just moaned when she put the first bite in her mouth. It's late and she's starving; she and Castle spent three hours at Brazen Head Books and they had run five miles before that. Her hands shake as she sips her water.

This is so good.

Castle chuckles at her as she shovels down another mouthful, peering over at her bowl. "Oh man, I forgot the baby corn on the cobs."

Kate flashes a look at him, then scoops a few from her bowl and dumps them into his. "Better?"

The delight spreading across his face is worth sharing her food, which is basically a violation of one of her relationship rules: _I eat my food, you eat yours_. But he looks so happy.

And that makes her happy too. Which is just so silly and ridiculous that she wants to roll her eyes at herself, but it is what it is. She buries the fork in her stir fry and hides her grin with the next bite.

"Hey, here," he says, dumping tomatoes into her bowl. "You forgot these, even after you reminded me to get them."

She stares down at the little slices of tomato, something strange washing over her. "Thanks." Kate spears one and slides it into her mouth, the juice bursting over her tongue, warm and sweet. Stir fry tomatoes just taste so good. And yeah, she did forget to add them to her bowl.

But Castle loves these. It's not like she loves those baby corns; giving up a few of them doesn't hurt. How. . .sweet.

What a goofy, normal thing to get worked up over. He's being sweet and she's noticing it, like it's the first time he's ever been sweet, like this is their first date or something. She even has those strange butterflies in her diaphragm, fluttering around like Castle is going to make a move on her.

"Hey, babe, what're you thinking?"

Just like that, butterflies are gone. Kate raises an eyebrow and slides her lips off the fork, using it to challenge him with a pointed jab. "I'm thinking you're dead meat, Castle."

He grins and drops a water chestnut into her bowl. "You forgot those too."

"I *didn't* forget them. I didn't want them." She scoops it back out and flicks it towards his bowl, where it lands just inside. "Oh, score!"

He frowns at her, but she sees the way he struggles to keep the grin off his face. "Didn't want them? But it's crucial to the stir fry experience-"

"It's irrelevant to the stir fry experience. They taste like nothing, like cardboard soaked in soy sauce."

"Cardboard?" Castle lifts a couple of water chestnuts on his fork, airplaning them towards her mouth. "Come on. And it's not soy sauce; I used sweet and sour."

She bats his hand away with her own fork, their utensils clashing.

"En garde," he cries, brandishing his fork as a water chestnut rolls away.

Last week, she might have hissed at him to grow up. Tonight, she laughs and taps her fork against his bowl. "Better surrender, Captain. You're already losing men."

Castle leans over and swipes the water chestnut off the floor, drops it on a napkin on their table. "Captain. I like it."

"Children's cereal and Richard Castle. Mm, Captains all."

"'O Captain, my Captain'," he retaliates, lifting both eyebrows and waggling them at her. He takes a sip of his root beer and sticks his fork in the bowl like he's planting a flag.

"'O heart'," she quotes back, finding her voice softer than she meant it to get, giving the Whitman poem a twist it doesn't have. "'O heart, heart, heart! O the bleeding drops of red.'"

Castle's eyes are intense on hers. "God, you're sexy as hell, you know that?" He sighs. "Brilliant and sexy as hell. Amazing."

She laughs in startled pleasure and grins at him around her next bite. "That one's not really meant to be a sexy poem, Castle. It's about Lincoln's assassination."

"You started it," he shrugs. "Captain Crunch my ass."

Kate laughs again. Somehow letting one laugh cross her lips, earlier this evening, has opened the floodgates. All the times she only rolled her eyes, all the times she managed to merely quirk her lips at him, they've built up. They want out. She wants out.

"So, you know the Whitman poem because of Dead Poets' Society?" Kate says, smothering her laughter in another bite of her dinner.

"Of course I've seen it. Many times. One of my favorite movies."

"Mine too," she says, swallowing the lump that rises in her throat. "It was one of my mom's favorites too."

"It's moving, to say the least," Castle agrees. "Is that where you learned it?"

"The poem? Well, it's because of that movie that I read Whitman, yes." She realizes with pang of regret that they've never really had a conversation like this before. They've dealt with her job, with his job, but not with the beautiful things they love. Poems, favorite books, music. Art. Hobbies? Do either of them have hobbies?

"So what's your favorite Whitman poem?" he asks.

"'Out of the Cradle, Endlessly Rocking,'" she answers immediately, smiling softly. Better late than never. And best place to finally start talking: date night.

"'From the word stronger and more delicious than any,'" he answers, a slow, surprised smile lighting up his face. "That's a good one. Beautiful, mystical. I. . .I'm surprised."

"Why?"

"It's like magic, that poem. And how many detectives know Walt Whitman?"

"A couple." She watches him for a moment, then shakes her head. "Me. And Ryan. Because 'O Pioneers' was used in a commercial for jeans, and he came in to the station quoting it, thought he was hot stuff."

Castle bursts into laughter, startling the couple behind him so that they stare. "Are you serious? I remember that one. The kids running in the dark in Levi's right?"

She nods. "On the beach. A bonfire. That's the one."

"'We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend.'" Castle chuckles and leans in close. "Gotta say, that is a little bit sexy."

"A little bit. Anyway. I studied Whitman in high school and memorized a few stanzas for a speech class in college."

"What other fascinating things have you memorized, Detective?"

Oh, that door is too wide open not to walk right through it. Kate lifts an eyebrow and opens her mouth to tell him exactly what she's got memorized, but Castle blushes, actually blushes, and puts both hands over his ears, shaking his head with his eyes tightly closed.

"No, no. I take it back! I don't think I could get up from this table if you say what I know you were going to say."

She laughs, and he cracks open one eyelid to watch her warily, then drops his hands and straightens up.

"You're safe for now," she promises. "But only because I want dessert." At the heated look that sweeps over him, Kate promptly backpedals. "Chocolate dessert. And no. Not you."

"But I'm on the menu," he pouts. "In fact, I might be the only thing on the menu."

"Not tonight. Date night, remember? You've got to feed me, Seymour."

"Comparing yourself to an out-of-control, man-eating, Venus flytrap?"

"Hmm. . ." she murmurs, narrowing her eyes at him. "Man-eating?" Kate slowly licks her bottom lip, letting it glisten in the restaurant's light, easing her foot closer to his under the table so that he can feel it.

Castle jumps the moment her toes touch his calf and he reaches underneath to capture her foot with a warning look. "You are ruthless."

"Feed me."

He barks out another laugh and groans, dropping her foot to put his head in his hands. "I can't win with you."

Kate grins, can't help the grin this time at all, not since he's left her this huge opening. "I do like to come. . .out on top."

Castle sends her another burning look, but its laced with amusement as well. "You gonna do this to me all night?"

"Think you can last all night?" she retorts, and then can't help laughing back at the unadulterated lust that takes up residence in his eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak and she holds a finger to stop him.

"You call me babe one more time, O Captain, and you'll be going at it alone."

"Naw, I can tell. You're just as hot and bothered as I am. Babe. Double-edged sword, Kate."

"That's what you think. I'm immune to your boyish charms." She takes a purposefully large gulp of water to cover her lie.

"Oh, ho. Game on, Detective."


	76. Chapter 76

They take a cab to a little coffee shop/bakery in Greenwich Village; the cab is mostly so Castle can slide his fingers lightly up her thigh. They're pressed tightly together in the back, no space between them, something different for her. He's going to ride this for all it's worth.

Kate looks like she's trying to control her reactions, but he can see the shiver of her muscles under her skin, the rough swallow of her throat in the darkness. They say nothing to each other; the cab driver has cool jazz playing out into the night, and the wind lifts her hair as it tumbles in through the rolled-down windows.

He doesn't stare at Kate, doesn't have to. He lets her feel every whorl of his fingerprints as he skates his hand along the inside of her thigh, slipping up past her knee, wishing she was wearing a skirt instead of jeans. She seems to wish it too, because her legs shift in the seat; she takes a long, low breath and turns her head to look out of the window.

Her hair dances around her head, strands flicking him in the face, some mild Medusa.

Castle reaches up and gathers her hair in his fist with a circular motion, holds it against the back of her head, leans in to kiss her neck. He lets his thumb caress the soft hairs there, up and down, almost thoughtlessly. It takes her a moment, but Kate retaliates by placing her palm on his knee, her head still turned away from him, the heat of her hand spreading up his leg.

She splays her fingers along his thigh, drags her nails up. Castle's hips lift, entirely without his permission, and she chuckles under her breath, low and throaty. She hates to be touched, but he thinks she definitely loves to be seduced.

Castle drops her hair over her other shoulder, slides his fingers under the strap of her bra, caresses the jut of her collarbone, lets his hand slip as far down as he possibly can, brushing just the top of her chest.

He feels the stuttering in her breath; her hand grips his thigh.

Castle brings his left hand to her smooth side, uses two fingers to find her waist, the hem of her shirt, seeking skin. When his hand slides underneath, joining the rough shape of his palm to her stomach, he feels the flinch of her muscles at her belly button, at her hip bones, the quiver of her body as she tries to withstand him.

He lets his fingers seek heat, swipes his thumb slowly up and around her belly button, brushes just the edge of her bra. Kate shudders his name just under her breath and her hand has gone still on his thigh like she's forgotten it entirely.

The cab stops, and Castle has to get to his wallet, pay the driver. It leaves Kate entirely too much time to recover her senses, and by the time he hands her out and follows himself, she's back in control, watching him from the sidewalk.

"Almost had you," he says, shaking his head as the cab pulls back into traffic.

She shoots him a look, but her eyes are still smoky. "Almost."

He grins and slides his hand down her arm to lace his fingers with hers, then tugs her towards the midnight bakery. "Enough for you to even admit it."

"Enough," she repeats.

"Castle got your tongue?" he murmurs, dipping his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of her lips.

She turns her head to press her cheek against his shoulder. Wow. He really got her. And so quickly. When has she ever hidden herself against him like this?

"I'm making a note." His voice rises up out of the darkness; he imagines he can almost see it wrap around her, the way she shivers again. "Kate Beckett loooves a good bookstore."

She laughs, some of the spell has broken. She looks grateful when she raises her eyes to his. "Mm, my secret is out."

"It certainly is. Now. Ready for chocolate?"

Kate takes a breath; Castle watches her gather herself back together, growing strong and tall again. She turns on her heel, two inch heel that is, and heads for the front door of the dessert shop.

Once inside, he lets Kate order a piece of death by chocolate cake, then asks for two forks. Kate elbows him and regards the woman at the register. "Ignore him. Two pieces please." She turns to him and raises an eyebrow. "You eat your own cake."

He laughs, decides to switch up his order. "Okay then, forget the cake. I want a piece of your cherry chocolate cordial cheesecake. One fork."

Kate finds them a table, each holding a plate of dessert and a cup of specialty coffee, her hip bumping into her chair to give her enough space to sit. Castle puts his food down and sits across from her, their knees touching. She maneuvers around, trying to find room, but the place is crowded with college kids and locals, and there isn't a lot of empty spots.

Castle bumps her knee with his and watches her dig in to her cake, licking frosting from her top lip with her tongue. She's got frosting on her thumb too, and she sucks the digit into her mouth. Thoroughly cleans it.

Arousing, yes, and yet, at the same time. . .

"Now who looks like Dash?" he says, smiling slowly at her. The eyes, happy and wide and brown, the curl of her hair in the humid night, and her expressive mouth.

"Me?" she says, her lips widening around her thumb into a smile.

"You." She's usually so striking, so amazingly beautiful, that he's blinded to the more common side of her, the licking her thumb and smiling side. "You look cute."

She wrinkles her nose and leans back in the chair, taking another bite of cake. "Cute?"

"Yeah," he sighs. Totally.

She puts her fork down on her plate and regards him for a moment, then sighs as well. "I. . .kinda miss him?"

"Was that a question?" he laughs.

"Little bit, yeah."

Castle polishes off the last of his cheesecake and takes a sip of coffee, watching her shake her head.

"This is maybe the first day in. . .well, the last four days or so that I haven't had him glued to my side. I guess, I miss it. Which is weird."

"That's not weird. When you took him to the aquarium, man, I missed you guys."

Kate twists her mouth, lips pursed like she's thinking, studies her fork. Her eyelashes are a dark line across her face, made thicker and bolder by her mascara and eyeliner. Her cheeks are pink, the bones highlighted in the dim light of the bakery. Gorgeous.

Sometimes, she's so gorgeous he thinks she's untouchable. Which just makes him want to touch her all the more. But at times like this, when she's licking her fork for the last crumbs of cake, when she's got those lines across her forehead as she chews her lower lip, it breaks down that ice, that behind-glass feeling she projects along with her authority and cop-confidence.

And yeah, she looks like their son. Dashiell might have a lot of Castle's personality, but he's got Kate's looks. Kate's slight build. Kate's cheekbones and lips and dark eyes.

"He'd love this place." She looks like she's surprised to be saying it. "We might not love him in it, of course. . .too many things to knock over and break. But the cake."

"Oh yeah. The boy loves cake." Castle laughs at her and wraps his fingers around his coffee.

"And I guess. . .jeez," she shakes her head. "Two weeks ago, I was in the precinct more hours than not, two days ago, I was running after Dash all morning, and now I'm wishing my wild man was here at. . .uh, nearly eleven o'clock at night eating chocolate cake with us. Am I crazy?"

She drinks her own coffee and leans forward in the chair, rubbing a finger around the rim of her cup, looking lost.

"No," he says finally. "Just a mom."

She startles and glances to him. "Honestly, I never expected it."

He leans back. "What? To be a mom, or to be the mother of my child?" He's quiet as he speaks, because he's not sure what he'll do with that answer.

Her fingers flex around her mug. "Um. The last one."

When he looks up at her, she's blushing and looking out the wide picture window. Blushing more deeply than she did in the cab. She opens her mouth to speak, shuts it again.

"Yeah." It's what he figured. Castle himself wasn't in her plans, let alone having his son.

"When I found out. . .when I knew I was pregnant, Castle, I didn't act very. . .nice to you."

He swallows but says nothing, his fingers wrapped around his mug for warmth again. Accepting her apology (because it *is* an apology) would be admitting that she'd been. . .less than careful with his heart. Denying it would be an outright lie and she'd see right through him.

"I told myself that things wouldn't have to change. I made myself a promise that I wouldn't change. That we wouldn't change, that everything would be all right if I could just keep it. . .the same."

"Us?"

"All of it. My job. The. . .the respect I've earned at the station. The hours I put into solving a case. The puzzle. I love my job, Castle, and I don't know how to be me without it. Getting pregnant didn't really. . .fit. But I couldn't. . .could never not. . .I *love* you." She raises her eyes to meet his, like she's struggling to get him to understand.

"I know," he says, leaning on the table, brushing a hand across her knee. "I know, Kate." They had this conversation the week after she told him, when he wanted to marry her and she said no, but said she wasn't saying no to him. Of course, he didn't understand it then, but he understands it now.

Kate sighs. "But I kept my word. I haven't changed a thing, have I? I haven't let it affect me. I hardly see you guys some weeks."

"Hey, we're doing fine. Dashiell is just fine, Kate. Your job is important."

She nods, knitting her eyebrows together and staring down at the table again. She's gouging a spot in the wood with her thumb nail. "Yeah, Dash is fine; Dash is great actually. Because he's got the greatest dad. You. . .you are absolutely amazing."

When her eyes meet his this time, they blaze, fervent and determined. Castle has to catch his breath, remind himself to breathe again, looking at those eyes.

"But Castle, even if Dash is fine. You're not."

"I'm. . .what?"

"You're not fine." She releases her coffee cup to splay her hands flat against the table. "You're behind on the book because I've not been willing to change, because I'm being selfish. You're doing all the hard work, taking care of Dash, and then on top of that, you're taking care of me too. Building theory with me, letting me run ideas by you, solving cases at one in the morning. Making me breakfast and coffee. Calling the boys so that they'll remind me to eat lunch."

Castle ducks and grins into the tabletop.

"You think I don't know, but I know. I see. You do. . .everything. And two weeks ago, I was willing to let you do it. I let myself be blind to how unfair I've been to you."

"Kate-"

"Let me finish," she says softly, her hands creeping over the table to wrap around his. "After these past few days, I see it. I see what's wrong. And I'm going to fix it. I promise, Castle. I am fixing it; it's already been done. Because I miss my son, and I miss you. . .and I've got to let the change happen. It *has* happened, and now I've got to catch up."

What did he say about the common side of her? The lip biting and thumb in her mouth and lines? Just cute? Hell no. Beautiful. All of it was beautiful. For not backing down, for taking it on face to face. For admitting weakness even as she built up strength.

"You miss me?"

She doesn't smile, but it's close. "All the time."

"I miss you too. A lot." A whole lot. More than he feels comfortable admitting, even now. In a needy and dangerous amount.

Her thumbs brush the backs of his hands and she squeezes, then lets go, sliding her hands back to her side of the table, then around her coffee mug. "I wish I could have you back."

"Hey, you've got me."

She winces and shakes her head. "I meant. Back at work with me. Not. . .I know I've got you here."

"Here. There. In a box, with a fox. Everywhere."

She lets him see the quirk of her lips, her amusement easing the grip she's had on his heart. "All right, Dr. Seuss."

"I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam I Am."

She laughs then and shakes her head at him, cradling her coffee to her chest as her eyes sparkle again. "I don't know how you do that. But I love it."

What did he just do? Castle raises an eyebrow and grins as he watches her whole body relax into the chair, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She deposits her mug on the table and reaches for his hand.

"Come on. Let's go home. I miss my son. And you promised to last all night long."

He sputters on his coffee and chokes down a mouthful of still-steaming hot liquid. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Castle watches her stand up, speechless.

"Kate got your tongue?" And she gives him that slow, sultry smile that spreads her mouth into the most amazingly perfect reception for his kiss. So of course, he has to kiss her.

Castle stands up, claims her. He lets his tongue trace that smile, nibbling on her lower lip, tasting chocolate and coffee, then breaks away to catch his breath.

She's got her fingers curled in his shirt; she has to let go and step back, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Hurry up," she says, clearing her throat when her voice comes out rough.

He lifts an eyebrow, for once the one in control of himself. "Nuh-uh. I said all night long, remember?"

Yeah. He was right.

Best date night ever.


	77. Chapter 77

After the phone call from Michelle, Alexis hangs up committed to her plan.

She's not going back to live in the dorms. There's maybe only four weeks left of the semester, but Alexis can't go back there. She's got to get out of there; those people are not her friends.

Michelle complained for thirty minutes about how bitchy her stepmother was, and then spent another twenty minutes or so trying to prove to Alexis that Kate was no different, sticking her with the kid. When she couldn't get a rise out of Alexis, she tried to convince her to come out with the group to a party at the Alpha Chi frat house on Monday night.

Alexis tried reasoning with her, explaining that she wanted to try something new for awhile, that she was trying to change. But eventually, she had to just hang up on Michelle. She won't call to apologize this time either. She's sick of these people who aren't really her friends, whose standards for behavior are so low that she gets dragged down along with them.

Kate is right. About all of it.

She can't go back there. Maybe next semester she'll get her own apartment. Or find on campus housing with different people. These were girls she met her freshmen year, and then their boyfriends, their boyfriends' friends, and then Alexis was part of this group that spent almost every night in a 'study' club at the dorm, smoking pot and drinking and planning parties for the weekend.

This dorm group of hers was one of the reasons she and Ashley broke it off recently. Looks like most of what Ashley said is right though.

Funny thing is, she has the urge to call Lofton and talk to *him* about this latest development. Not Ashley.

Tapping her phone against her cheek, Alexis watches her brother jumping on the couch. He crawls to the arm, finds a precarious balance, and then launches himself into the cushions. Dash usually lands on all fours, but a few times he's managed to get just his feet under him, causing him to tilt backwards. So Alexis is his spotter while he does his stunts.

She pockets her phone and decides that calling anyone else tonight might be a bad idea. She should really get herself figured out before she goes jumping into another relationship right now. She thinks that's something Kate would suggest anyway. Hang back, ride it out, see where you are when the current drags you far enough away from the rapids, then start swimming for shore.

Alexis had put a Thomas the Train video playing on the living room television, with the hope that it would make Dash drowsy, but the kid is wired. Her father told her earlier tonight that she didn't need to force Dash to go to bed, but she knows it would be easier on them both if she can get Dash asleep before they get home.

Dash faceplants in the cushions, giggling so hard he can't get back to his feet. Alexis grins at him and tries to help him back up, humming the Thomas song under her breath.

After a second of struggling, Dash abandons that idea and slides off the couch, runs for the stairs.

"Hey, bubba, let's stay down here and play," she calls out, starting after him.

She catches him at the bottom stair, swings him around in a high arc, then around and around to distract him from not getting to climb, a dizzying spiral.

He shrieks on the third go-round, and Alexis swings him towards the couch and body slams him back into it. He gasps with giggles, grinning up into her face, reaching for her. Alexis is laughing back at him, and then she leans down and strawberries the round part of his neck, making him squeal.

It just makes her grin wider, and she does it again, tickling his belly as she does. Dashiell's laughter is full and manic; he grabs Alexis's ears and tugs, giggling so hard that his eyes are closed.

"You gonna stay downstairs and play like a good boy?" she warns, leaning in close like she's going to strawberry his belly this time.

"Pay, pay, pay!" he agrees in a singsong voice, matching the tune of the Thomas the Train song on the television. "Sares?"

"No stairs, bubba. If we go upstairs, then we go up for bed."

"No bed."

"Then down. Trains, tv, tickling. We'll have more fun down here anyway. Want to make a picture with me? We could color it, and then use glue and scissors."

"Due! Cut!" Dashiell seems to be agreeing with this idea, but instead of heading to the table to color, he bounces up to his feet and jumps on the couch cushions instead.

"Want me to get the crayons out?" Alexis says, trying to redirect him away from the jumping, reaching for him.

"Momma?" he asks suddenly, sitting down and wriggling away from her tickling fingers.

"Momma and Daddy are having dinner. Out. We can color them a picture."

"Momma wook?" Dashiell isn't looking at Alexis as he says it; instead, he's momentarily trapped by the Thomas dvd.

"Momma's not working. She's with Daddy."

"Daddy wook?"

"No, Dash. Daddy and Momma are out on a date. Eating dinner." Alexis sits down beside him and cuddles up, hoping this signals the beginning of the end. It's already eleven. Of course, Dash got into bed late last night too. And the night before because of the game. And because of her.

Alexis sighs and tugs Dash into her lap, then leans back against the arm of the couch. Dashiell wriggles free of her arms and sits up on her stomach, his bottom digging into her hipbone, wriggling around in time to the music.

"Momma wook."

"No, baby. Mommy's not at work," Alexis sighs, rolling her eyes at him. She jiggles him a little with her leg and he topples into the couch cushions, looking surprised. Apparently, Dash hadn't noticed he was sitting on top of her.

"Momma?"

"Momma's with Daddy."

"Daddeeee..." Dash crawls back down on the floor, grabs his pacifier and blanket from under the coffee table, then throws them back up on the couch.

The pacifier hits her in the knee; the blanket tumbles half off the sofa. Dash grasps the cushion near her feet with both hands and pulls, trying to climb back up on the couch. Alexis sits up to hover over him, giving his bottom a little push when he gets stuck.

When he's up, she lays back down on the couch and waits. After a moment of staring at the television, Dashiell breaks out of the spell long enough to gather his pacifier and blanket and make a little nest at her feet.

Alexis pushes her toes under his blanket and touches his leg. Dash cocks his head and leans over, towards her, like he's searching for a place to lay down. So Alexis scoots down on the couch and brings her knees up beside him. Dash rests against her raised legs, bringing a hand up to curl around the ring of his pacifier, his blanket tucked under his chin.

She can't see him really, now that her legs are propped up, but she feels his heavy, warm weight, can hear him playing with the ring on his pacifier. The blanket is draped down her right leg, a piece curled up under his chin while he watches the Thomas show.

Alexis closes her eyes and drifts for a moment, wondering about Michelle and Rainey and Wills and Hayden, about what the group will think if she doesn't come back tonight, about Ashley and what she might have done differently. About Lofton, even though she doesn't mean to think about him.

"Momma?"

Alexis opens her eyes and looks down at the end of the couch. Dash is watching her with a mournful expression.

"You know where she is, bubba. I already told you."

"Momma wook. Daddy?"

"No, baby. Not at work. Momma and Daddy are together, eating dinner."

Dash drops his cheek back against her shin for a second, evidently thinking this over, then he slides down off the couch, catches his balance, and disappears behind the couch.

Alexis jumps up, tripping on his blanket, and stumbles towards the kitchen.

Dashiell is climbing into one of the chairs at the table, slapping his palms against the wood. "Red!"

"You want to color now?"

Dash makes a humming noise and sits up on his knees to reach the table. He leans over on his belly and reaches for the stack of paperwork her father has left in the middle. Alexis rescues it before Dash can make a mess of things, then rifles through until she finds a clean page, hands it over to her brother.

"You should make Mom and Dad a picture, Dash. Let me get crayons." She heads for the kitchen island and the drawer in the middle. It used to be a junk drawer, but her father cleaned it out and put art supplies in it for Dash, just like it was when she was little.

Alexis gets crayons and markers both, then a pad of drawing paper and glue. She has to hunt for the child scissors, but remembers that her dad put them on top of the fridge to keep Dash from getting them. She pulls those down and deposits everything on the table.

Dash lunges for the scissors first, but Alexis grabs them. "Nope. Color first. Then we can cut."

"Due?"

"And glue. But color first. Look, I even brought the markers. Daddy said you were much better about using them."

She opens the ziploc bag and dumps them out on the table, letting her brother take his pick. He uses black first, making bold lines down his page. Alexis winces as the marker runs off onto the table, but there are already marker and paint stains all over it. Her father says the table can be replaced.

Of course, Alexis remembers Kate not being too happy about her father's attitude. So Alexis digs newspapers out of the recycling bag and spreads them out on the table, then jerks the marker out of Dash's hand and puts his paper on top of the newspaper.

Dash squawks at her, but Alexis is already handing the marker back to him, the table covered with newspaper.

They both color quietly for awhile, and Alexis is caught up by her thoughts again. Lofton and Ashley, how much Michelle has turned out to be just like Paige, the way Alexis ends up finding for herself the same kinds of people, one after another. Like she's attracted to certain personality types, the kind that often hurt her.

Dash seems to like her colors better, so they trade a few times. He scribbles in black mostly, but adds red and green and purple to the mix when he sees Alexis doing it. Then Dashiell uses his baby sign for thank you, taking the orange marker from her, and using it busily on one corner of his paper.

Alexis laughs and glances to the clock. 11:30 already. She wonders if she should try getting him into bed, or just wait it out. Dad did say she could wait. . .

They begin cutting the intensely colored page, Dash's tongue sticking out as he allows Alexis to hand-over-hand help him cut a few lines. Alexis starts the scissors for him and then cuts her own page, creating circles and triangles for him to glue down later. His own page is mostly rips and tears, but he refuses to let her help anymore.

When it's time for glue, she uses the large pad of construction paper and helps him pick out a color. Black of course. Alexis lets him use as much glue stick as he likes, all over the newspaper, all over his fingers, the page, everything sticking together. One of his curls has a matted place from where he managed to get a glob of glue stick in his hair.

Dash pounds his hand against the page, then blows on it, confusing his rituals.

"It's not hot, Dash. You don't need to blow. Just make sure it sticks." She presses her hands against his limp page, so much glue on it that it feels mushy under her fingers.

Suddenly, the key scrapes in the front door lock. Dashiell's head comes up, his eyes alight. "Momma!"

He scrambles down from the chair, ripping an entire section of newspaper away with him (apparently it's glued to his elbow), and heads for the door.

Alexis puts the cap back on the glue stick and jumps up after him, managing to catch his squirmy little body before he can get smacked in the head by the door.

Her dad and Kate are laughing as they push their way inside; Alexis averts her eyes when she sees where her father's hand is, pulls Dash closer to her.

But Kate drops to her knees, dumping her bag on the floor, and holds out her arms. Dashiell wriggles free just as Alexis lets him go, and Kate gives him a big hug.

"Hey, buddy. We missed you," she says, pressing a kiss into his hair.

"Uh-" Alexis tries to warn her, but it's too late.

Kate jerks back, wiping her mouth with her hand. "What's-is this glue?" But Kate is laughing, rubbing at her lips, glancing back up at Alexis's father.

"It's glue," Alexis says. "Sorry. We made you a picture. Dash was getting worried."

"We were out late," Kate bites her lip, picking up Dashiell as she gets to her feet. "I'm sorry, Alexis. We probably should've called-"

"No, no. I mean, Dash kept asking if you were at work."

Her father snorts with laughter and closes the door behind them, pushing them all out of the foyer and down to the living room.

Kate winces. "Ouch. Nope, buddy, I wasn't at work. I work too much, don't I?" Kate is pulling clumps of newspaper from Dash's arm, her eyes both sad and amused at the same time.

"Um, is it okay if I stay the night here for awhile?" Alexis asks, hesitating on the edge of the living room as her father picks glue out of Dash's hair and Kate wads up strips of ripped newspaper.

"Of course," Kate says first, before her father can even get his mouth open. "And we won't make you baby-sit every night, I promise. It's your house too, you know."

Just like Kate is her mom too? They share, her and Dash.

Alexis can't help feeling relieved, despite the great talks they've had the last couple of days, despite knowing that Kate sees her as family. It still. . .catches her by surprise.

Her father is nodding happily of course. "We'll put Dash to bed, pumpkin. You go do whatever you need to do."

Alexis feels her phone in her back pocket and starts for the stairs. She wants to call Lofton, just talk, just hear someone else's opinion about all of this. She should talk to Kate too, at some point. Maybe tomorrow. Kate has told her to come find her whenever she needs to talk.

"Oh, and the picture we made for you is on the table, Mom."

Kate turns to look at her, and Alexis is surprised by the. . .well, the tenderness in her eyes. Like she might cry.

"Thank you, Alexis."

"Good night, Dash," she calls out, then heads up the stairs.


	78. Chapter 78

Castle is out cold.

Kate smirks and brushes the hair from his forehead; she's curled up on her side with him facing her. She still has that lovely lethargy from a couple rounds with him, and her fingers are gentle on his skin. His face is slack with sleep, the lines smoothed out, his lashes on his cheek.

She curls a little tighter so that her knees brush Castle's arm. She touches the stubble at his chin, paints his lip with a finger. Amazing how much she loves this man. And also amazing how in eight hours or so, he'll be morning-annoying, as always.

Because she's still awake, and a little buzzed by the best part of date night, she's the one who hears Dash babbling over the baby monitor, his words getting louder and louder. Kate lifts her head off the pillow and watches the display for a minute, waiting until the audio red-lines before she gets out of bed, turning the monitor down.

Her knees ache; she grins and slides on boxer shorts, grabs a tshirt from the end of the bed. Rug burns on her elbows sting as the slides it on. Only when she pulls it over her head does she realize it's Castle's shirt, not hers, but she's already heading for the door.

The neckline of his shirt dips off her shoulder; Kate jerks it up and reaches out to slowly turn the knob until the door clicks softly open. She glides out into the hallway on quiet feet, breathing in the stillness.

Being back here, with just the study off this hallway, keeps their room rather soundproofed. Which is good. She'd feel so strange if Alexis could hear. . .date night.

But it also means that it's so much harder to hear Dashiell when he has a bad night. At first, that was a good thing. He was a colicky baby, his sleep cycle was awful, and even now, he has issues. When Kate needs sleep after a long case, she can head back to their bedroom and not hear a thing. When Castle is up all night with the boy, he can crash in the early morning hours in their bed and sleep until he's human again.

Of course, lately Castle is up half the night with Dashiell's restlessness, and then up again when Dash is awake for the day, and then he's also the one on duty so that Kate can grab a few hours' sleep here and there between breaks in the case.

He hasn't said a word about that either. Which is strange, knowing how much he loves to work late, sleep late. He always grumbled about the early morning body-calls back when he still shadowed her at the 12th.

More proof that Castle is hiding how difficult it's been for him. More proof that she's been selfish with her stupid, ignorant promise to never change. In the darkness of their apartment, she can admit it again; it reaffirms her decision to be better. A better wife. A better mother. And unfortunately, maybe *not* a better detective.

At the same time, Dash's nightmares or insomnia or whatever it is. . .it's got to stop. She wants to be there to keep the boy from being afraid, but she's getting maybe three hours of sleep at a time this way. And when she goes back to work, she can't keep doing this. And neither should Castle.

Something has to be done.

She pads into the darkened living room, steps over the baby gate, heads upstairs. The light is off in Alexis's room; Kate hopes she's able to sleep through it. She can hear Dash grunting and babbling, but the tone of it isn't happy.

If Alexis does move back home, then they might have to figure this out sooner rather than later. Or get the girl ear plugs. Dashiell's appointment with his pediatrician is in a few weeks, so hopefully it will get resolved.

In the upstairs hall, she can hear him knocking into the bars of his crib, grunting. As soon as Kate pushes open Dashiell's door, the noise picks up, his babbling grows a little panicked.

She wonders if he's awake or in the throes of another night terror. "Hey, buddy. You awake?" she whispers.

"Momma," he cries out. In the darkness, she waits for her eyes to adjust before stepping further inside. "Mom-ma! Mom-ma!"

"Okay, buddy, I'm here. Shh," she hushes him and slides a foot forward, easing into the black, called forward by the desperation in his voice. Slowly she begins to see his outline, standing up in the crib, little hands clinging to the bars.

"Mum, mum, mum, mum."

"Hey buddy, hush now." Kate brushes her hand down the side of his face, feels the tear tracks on his cheeks. "Oh, baby, what's wrong tonight? Huh?"

"Mum, mum, mum," he chants, reaching for her, trying to rub his face into her shirt.

She lets him; it's Castle's anyway. Kate puts her hands under his armpits and pulls him up against her chest, out of the crib. "Hey there. Why'd you wake up, huh? It's only three in the morning, baby. You've only slept a couple hours."

Dashiell sighs loudly against her neck and squirms deeper into her embrace. His babbling continues but it's aimless now, without real meaning, but his eyes are still open and wide in the dark. His baby hands are tight around the shirt, catching her skin in their grip.

Kate eases his hands free with a wince, readjusts her hold on him. She pats his back and grabs his blanket from the crib, wrapping it around him. Dash moves in her arms until he's got his cheek against the soft edge of the blanket, and then he smacks his lips, searching for his pacifier.

Kate brushes her bare foot along the floor until she hits something, hears the rattle of the pacifier skittering across the carpet. She squats down and reaches for it blindly, gathers it up and heads for the bathroom hall.

Dashiell blinks in the relatively dim light, buries his head against her chest. Kate bumps her hip into the door to open it, then uses one hand to twist the faucet. She rinses off the pacifier then offers it to Dash.

The boy only turns his head and opens his mouth like a baby bird; Kate pops it in with a chuckle and shuts off the faucet, backs out of the bathroom with a hand at his back. She's about to head into Dash's room again, but he squirms down in her arms and sighs softly, his body relaxing so completely that he feels a hundred times heavier.

And a lot less terrified.

She sways in the hallway, pressing her lips against the top of his head, curling her arm up around his back to brush her fingers along the soft hair at his neck. He murmurs "momma" into her skin, then opens his mouth and does his biting-kiss at her collarbone, wet and soft, one little hand patting her shoulder.

And she can't do it. She can't put him back to bed alone, not when he's been crying, when his nightmares seem to wake him every three or four hours, when all he wants is her, just her, to be okay again.

However, she really doesn't want to make this a habit. She doesn't want to start something, where he has to fall asleep in their bed every night. That's unacceptable. Plus Castle tends to wake up whenever Dash gets in bed with them because the boy is a restless sleeper, while Kate has managed to get used to it. And it's become abundantly clear to her that Castle needs more sleep.

So Dash cannot stay in their bed.

Kate hesitates at the top of the stairs, chews on her lip. Dashiell's eyelids battle to stay open; he makes a fist against her shoulder, opens it, makes a fist again, a rhythm against the beat of her heart.

The living room below her is dim, the blinds still pulled tight. Castle's couch is wide and deep, and she's fallen asleep there before, never having made it to the bedroom after a few rough cases.

Kate starts down the stairs, walking slowly because she can't quite see her feet. Dashiell lifts his head and wriggles a little bit, but his babbling has stopped. He seems content enough, but she can still feel the tension hidden in his body, like at any moment he will cry for her again.

When she gets to the couch, she eases down, trying not to disturb her son. Sometimes sitting down will wake him enough to protest, as if he's afraid of what comes next, certain that sitting down means rocking, and after rocking he gets put to bed alone.

He's a lot like his father, actually; he likes to be in the middle of things, likes to have people around him, be the center of attention. So getting put to bed alone is often seen as a punishment, like he's missing the best part of the night. Kate understands it, but that doesn't make it less annoying.

Fortunately, Dash is too tired to complain. He really *is* exhausted, and these nightmares or insomnia must make him miserable. She breathes slowly, tries to relax her shoulders, relax her neck. Her arms are stretched taut with Dashiell's weight, and she eases back against the arm of the couch. She half-reclines, uncomfortable, trying to move as little as possible so he will fall asleep.

After a moment, when the boy is still quiet, Kate curls onto her side, putting Dash between her and the back of the couch, his sweaty body heavy against her. His blanket is tangled in her arm; she has to work it free slowly.

Dashiell's eyes slide open, his round little mouth purses. She holds her breath. And then Dash sighs and his lids close, his cheek hot against her arm.

"Night-night, baby. Sleep well."

* * *

><p>Castle wakes to darkness and cold. He's naked, the sheets tossed back, but Kate's not at his side. He sits up, disoriented in the room, and rubs at his eyes. His jaw cracks on a yawn; he has a funny taste in his mouth.<p>

He gets up, heads for the bathroom. Kate's not there, but he brushes his teeth and it wakes him up a little more. He checks the alarm clock. Five in the morning. The baby monitor is turned down.

Huh.

Castle pulls on his shorts, but can't find his tshirt. He opens the dresser drawer and stares dumbly into it, his mind still sluggish. He hates mornings. Although, five a.m. can't really be called morning. It's more like late late late in the night. Smart people are asleep.

No, check that. Plenty of smart people are up at five. Rich people are asleep. Yeah.

No. Lots of rich people have to be up at five to do the jobs that make them rich. So that doesn't work either.

Blue tshirt on top. He pulls it on; it smells nice. Like Kate's mom's laundry. He smiles blearily.

Lots of people are up at five a.m. But not *his* kind of people.

There. That's it.

Oh. No. That's not it either.

But Kate is often up at five. She's wired to be a morning person, but has the sleeping habits of a night person. Which means Kate doesn't get a whole lot of sleep. When Dashiell was born, she took so many of the late night shifts that she wore herself out in two months; Castle seriously thought he'd have to force her into the hospital for an IV and some rest. But it's hard to get a jump on a person who already doesn't do much sleeping.

He remembers feeling like Kate attacked the 'problem' of Dash like the problem of an unsolved case. If she worked hard enough at it, she'd have all the answers and the case could be closed.

And of course, babies don't work that way. Dashiell especially doesn't work that way. Kate just wore herself into the ground doing that, and then she. . .she just quit. She went back to work and focused on her murder investigations and let Castle deal with everything.

So that's when he moved Dashiell out of their bedroom and into his own room upstairs. That's when Castle put the baby monitor on his side of the bed. That's what started this long spiral down, where he's more than 5 months back-logged on his novel and taking calls from his publicist who is always threatening to quit.

At the time, it seemed a small price to pay to. . .to have her. To just have her. But this week, Kate seems to have taken it all back on herself again. Kate refocused on her family and attacked it like a problem again. She'd apologized to him over dessert tonight, hadn't she?

He figures now that this is what it must have been about. Castle rubs at his jaw, scratches his forehead. This isn't exactly compromise, though, is it? He doesn't think it should swing from him doing all the work to Kate doing all the work. They'll have to talk about this at some point. Figure out a way to make this work.

So she's probably with Dash then, right? Makes sense.

He fumbles for the door, finds it's not pulled shut all the way. Kate's definitely been through here then. He heads for the living room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, yawning again. She might be rocking Dashiell upstairs, trying to get him down again. If he can lure her back to bed, then they might get three more hours' sleep.

Or maybe a little five a.m. delight? Castle chuckles to himself and drops his fists from his eyes, then does a double take. He halts halfway to the stairs and blinks.

Kate's curled up on the couch. No blanket, no pillow. Asleep. What is she doing on the couch?

Castle heads towards her, his worry kicking in, but as he gets closer, he sees Dash's dark hair against her arm, then the boy's body between her and the couch.

She doesn't look exactly comfortable, crunched into one side of the couch, ready to fall off with the least movement. Castle sits down on the arm of the couch and hunches over them. He brushes his hand along Dashiell's cheek, but the boy is out. He's drooling all down Kate's tshirt-

Oh, there's his shirt. Great. It's all drooly.

Castle leans over and eases Kate's arm away from their son, then gradually lifts him out of the cradle of her body. He presses Dashiell's head to his chest, stands up, swaying from side to side as Dashiell stirs against him. Castle hums under his breath, letting the vibrations in his chest hypnotize the boy until his eyes close again.

When Dash is settled, Castle takes the boy into their room and lays him down in the middle of the bed. He angles their pillows along either side of the sleeping kid, then heads back for Kate.

She stirs when he kisses her cheek. "Kate?"

She murmurs and her hand twitches, but her eyes stay closed. Castle places another kiss on her cheek, brushes the side of her mouth, humming as he traverses the skin of her jawline towards her ear.

He feels the moment she wakes, then her hand slides back and into his hair. Castle smooths a hand along her side, over her hip, down to her knee. He squeezes it, starts back up, giving her another kiss.

She stirs again, stiffens.

"Dash is in our room, Mommy," he whispers and buries his nose in the small space between her cheek and her shoulder. "Come back to bed."

She hums with sleep, then turns slightly on the couch, nearly falling off. Castle puts out an arm to balance her, leans down to kiss her mouth more fully.

"Toothpaste. Time's it?" she drawls, blinking slowly.

"Five. Back to bed, Kate. . .love," he whispers, drawing a hand down her cheek, along her hair. She sighs and lets her legs fall over the side of the couch, then staggers upward. Castle gets up to help her, tugs on her elbow to get her moving.

"We gonna run?" she says, leaning her cheek against his shoulder.

Castle prompts her forward until she gets enough awareness to walk straight down the hallway. "Not at five. Later in the morning. When the sun is up."

"Oh. Five. Yeah," she says, then shakes her head and stumbles into the side of the door. "Ow."

"Come here, klutz." Castle guides her to the bed and pushes her down. She sinks into the mattress and immediately curls on her side, arms around Dash.

Castle gets into bed and mirrors her, but he keeps his eyes open so he can study her, half-asleep already and sleep-rumpled.

Suddenly her eyes flicker open and she stares at him.

"Go back to sleep, Kate," he murmurs, lifting a hand to caress the back of her elbow.

"Call me klutz?"

"You stole my tshirt," he murmurs, smiling.

She closes her eyes on a sigh, her fingers relax. "S'okay. We're even."

He brushes her elbow, watches her body sink into sleep.

Even. That's the key. They just need to be even.


	79. Chapter 79

Kate wakes up before the anyone else, confused to be in her own bed again, her arms tangled up in Castle's. Dash is a heavy, warm weight at her feet, his bottom in the air as he sleeps, his face mashed into his baby blanket. She has a sheet covering one leg, somehow, but not the other one; Castle is bare-chested and without any covers at all.

Interesting. She vaguely remembers Castle pushing her back into bed last night. This morning. Dash was already in here.

Kate eases away from Castle's body, tries to slide her hand out from under his pillow without waking him. She bites her lip and pauses when he stirs, and then slowly slips out of bed.

Only 8 a.m. She'll let the boys sleep a little longer.

Her tshirt is laying on the floor, kicked halfway under the bed. Kate scoops it up and heads out to the living room, changing shirts as she goes. She starts the coffee maker, finds a note propped up against it from Alexis.

_I have class at 8:30. Be back late. Couldn't find Dash this morning-hope he's in bed with you. Love you all. AC_

Kate puts the note out on the kitchen island so Rick will see it, just in case she forgets, then stands at the sink and listens to the coffee brewing. It takes her no time at all to go from sleep-fuzzy to wide awake alert, but the coffee puts an edge to the day, gives her a nice kick that's always welcome.

She knows that Castle thinks she doesn't take very good care of herself. But it's not true. As a cop, as a mixed martial arts combatant, she has to respect her body and her body's strengths and weaknesses. She knows it does her no good to go without eating, to run on too little sleep. She's worked out, very carefully, exactly what her body can take.

She just needs less sleep than most people, so long as she gets a day to crash every couple of weeks. Castle wants to push extra helpings on her dinner plate or eat three-course meals for breakfast, but her body doesn't work like that. She grazes all day long, eating small snacks in between small meals. Forcing her to eat will only make her sick. Breakfast should be nothing more elaborate than some fruit or cereal and coffee. Sometimes just coffee.

Of course, Castle is entirely the opposite.

He can go without coffee all day, remaining naturally boisterous and energetic. He drinks it because she does, because it was something to do for her back when he'd stepped all over her toes to plant himself as her shadow. And when Castle stops to eat, he eats.

Hearty. He has scrambled eggs and pancakes and bacon for breakfast; he wants a meal at lunch, preferably hot, and five courses for dinner. If he ever does snack, it's to sugar load on things from the vending machine.

Kate smirks, the coffee starting to percolate. Actually, Castle started that because of her as well. He's not usually a junk food person; he only started buying that crap in the vending machines at the 12th because he thought he could tempt her into eating.

She eats it, sure. She'll munch on his chips or share a bag of gummy bears. But instead of it making her realize, _oh yeah, it's lunch time_ and _let's go eat, Castle_; instead it tides her over for another couple of hours, contributing to her usual mistake of missing lunch.

When she was pregnant with Dash, oh my word, the man was insufferable. He set out the prenatal vitamins beside her coffee cup every morning (whether at the station, in the beginning, or here, after she moved in with him) until she tore his head off for hovering. She had a half a cup of coffee in the morning, full strength, and then ran on fumes and decaf the rest of the day. Then she got another half a cup of regular at the end of her shift. All closely monitored by You Know Who.

Seriously, it should have been glaringly apparent that she loved that kid from the first. She gave up caffeine for him. She grumbled about it, oh yeah, and she bemoaned it, definitely, but she still didn't ingest a drop more of it than was allowed.

And just like Castle himself, his kid remained wholly unaffected by what little caffeine she did have. Only late at night, when she had stopped moving around and was finally going to bed, did Dash get active, kicking and twisting, elbowing her bladder or kneeing her kidneys. Like she needed sleepless nights on top of having very little morning coffee.

Ha, it was a warning she didn't heed. Watch out, he's active; he's got his days and nights mixed up.

But now, back to coffee. Kate takes a long, deep breath and pulls down her mug from the shelf of them in the cupboard. It's one of those picture mugs that has Dashiell's face beaming back at her, super big grin and eyes squinched tight. He's got his arms thrown around Alexis's neck; big sister is laughing at him. She got it for Christmas in her stocking. Castle of course. He loves Christmas stockings. She'll have to do that for him this year, since she failed miserably last year.

Ug, she doesn't want to think about last Christmas.

Yeah, she can already tell. This is going to be one of those days where she might have to knock back three or four cups, just to get her through.

But first, she's got some phone calls to make.

* * *

><p>She's had a full cup of delicious coffee and just picked up her cell phone when she hears Dash from the other room. She runs back into the bedroom and shushes him, carefully extracting him from the center of the bed.<p>

"Quiet, baby. Daddy's still sleeping." She carries him out, pressing kisses to his sweaty hair. "You ready to be up for the day?"

"Momma. Wet."

She laughs and checks his diaper. Yes, wet. "Pretty soggy there, kiddo. Let's get you changed."

Dash begins babbling again, rubbing his face against her shirt every few minutes like he's trying to get the sleep out of his eyes. In his room, she strips him down and wipes him off, checks his hair for glue (they had a terrible time getting it out in the bath last night), then pulls out clothes for the day.

Dash grabs his pants and flings them off the changing table with a laugh. He lunges for his shirt and Kate clotheslines him, dragging him back down to the table with a laughing glare.

"Oh-ho, baby, I don't think so. Give me that." She snakes the shirt over his head, tugs his arms through even as he tries to wrestle them back out.

It's the shirt that Castle bought for him on his birthday. Pale blue with a design on the front, it shows a toy unicorn on his hind legs, two horses off to one side. One horse says to the other, "Show off." That's Dash, all right. Always trying to do it himself, alone, show he's a big kid.

Kate smiles as she tugs the shirt down over Dash's belly. She puts a hand on his chest and swoops down to grab his pants. Dashiell knocks his hand into her forehead as she comes back up. He laughs at her as she makes a face at him.

"Time for pants, Dash. Feet up!" Dash lifts his feet at her command and grins at her. She shoves both legs into his dark wash jeans, one of her own purchases. If it were up to Castle, the kid would be in funny graphic tees and sweatpants all day. She's got a fondness for nice threads, and she can't help but want to dress Dash up smart, in striped onesies and corduroy trousers and sweaters with elbow patches. Castle is metro enough to let her.

For Dashiell's first birthday, they had a little party at the loft with the grandparents, Alexis, and a few friends. Dash wore a little green silk vest, black cords, and one of those soft cotton white shirts with the snap buttons down one sleeve. Kate loves the pictures from his birthday party; they framed the one of Dash grinning at the camera, a couple little teeth crooked in his gums, the birthday cake in front of him, candles not yet lit. The ham face, the dark curl around his ears, and the fist reaching for all that frosting. . .in his green vest. Adorable.

Kate stands Dash up on the table and straightens his clothes. "Ready?"

"Momma!" he shrieks, and bounces in her arms like he wants to jump.

"Let's go, wild man." She swings him down and lets him run for the door. He struggles with it, but can't quite reach the knob, thank goodness. She grabs his hand and twists the door open, letting him out.

He drags her down the hallway towards the stairs; they make a slow progress down, with Dash holding on to her hand and to the railing as well, squatting down almost to his bottom to get to the next step.

"Good job, baby. Keep going."

Dashiell tugs on her hand again, trying to break free, but Kate's definitely not letting go. He pouts for a second, stopping in the middle of the stair case, grunting at her as he tries to get free again.

"No. We do it together, or I'm carrying you."

Dash waits for a half a beat, then starts moving down the stairs again. He's wobbling everywhere, but he insists on doing it himself. After a near topple, Kate righting him as he swings from her hand, Dash gives in and sits on his bottom to scoot the rest of the way down.

She opens the baby gate and lets him walk through on his own. "What a great job! You want some breakfast, little man?"

"Ggggsss!" he grunts happily, galloping towards the bar at top speed.

"Oh, scrambled eggs, huh?" She's pleased she can decipher his baby language already, after only a handful of days with him.

Dash is looking back at her with a grin, as if to say, _Look what I'm doing_, then smacks his head into the bar stool and plops down on his bottom, looking up at her with a dazed expression.

"You're fine. Get up."

Dash bounces back to his feet and holds his arms up. "Carry you." He gives her a fake pouty face.

Kate sighs but picks him up, moving to deposit him in his booster seat on the chair at the bar. She really should put him in the highchair, but that thing is so messy and she always feels like she's going to pinch his fingers when she puts the tray on.

She does put the belt on him in the booster seat though, then scoots him up.

"Ready for eggs? Let's get you some toast too, okay?"

She pulls the bread out of the fridge, some kind of whole wheat, unbleached, all-natural loaf that Alexis picked up in a fit of worry about the chemicals in processed food. She keeps giving them speeches about how bad it is for little kids to eat stuff with so many dyes and preservatives in it. But Kate ate the same stuff as a kid. It can't be that bad.

"Mum-ma," Dash mumbles from behind her.

Kate dumps four slices into the double-wide toaster (the redneck toaster trailer as Castle calls it), then pulls out a pan for the eggs.

"Momma!" Panic.

Kate turns to look, that tone in her son's voice, then manages to dart forward and catch his chair before it topples over backwards.

Heart racing, palms damp, the little boy crushed in her arms, Kate fumbles with the lap belt until she can pull Dashiell out of the booster seat, letting the chair fall out from under him.

The chair hitting the wooden floor makes a spectacular crash, but Kate's got her eyes closed, her face buried in Dashiell's neck, even as Dash oohs and ahhs over the fallen chair.

Highchair it is.

Kate's arms tremble as she carries Dashiell into the dining room, dragging the high chair out of the corner. Her forehead sheens with panic sweat, but the kid is strangely quiet in her arms, as if he knows she's just had the scare of her life.

If he hadn't called out. . .

"Mommy was stupid," she says to him, nestling him in the highchair and strapping him in. "She won't ever do that again. No way."

"Him hey!"

"That's right. No way," she repeats, clicking the tray into place carefully. Dashiell grins at her and slams both palms onto the tray, the sound echoing in the room. "All right. Sure. Music time. Want the wooden spoon?"

"Soon!"

"Okay, let me get it. Then I'm making your eggs."

She knows she's putting off those phone calls. If Dash is pounding away at the highchair like a drumset, she can't very call, can she?

Until her adrenaline spike wears off, she's pretty much not good for anything though. Her hands still shake as she cracks three eggs against the side of the pan; she can hear Dashiell banging away happily on the tray with his spoon, the pause in the beat as he stops to gnaw on the wood.

She adds milk and a little bit of butter to the pan, mixes it all together. The toast pops up. She lets it cool for a minute as she stirs the eggs around, then plates the toast. She taps the bread to make sure its not too hot, then heads to the highchair.

She rips off pieces of his toast and drops them onto the tray. "Here you go, buddy. Toast first. Then eggs."

"Tote!"

"Yup. Wanna let me have the spoon while you eat?"

"No, no, no!"

"Okay. Careful-" she ducks as he swings the spoon around. "Watch it buddy. Here. No." She grabs the spoon to keep him from dumping the toast in the floor. "This is too big to eat with, baby. It's for cooking, not eating."

"Eat tote!"

"It's not for eating toast."

"Eat ggss!"

"No, wild man. Not for eating eggs either."

"Mum-ma!" he grunts angrily, tugging on the spoon.

She yanks it out of his grip and taps him on the head with it. "You can have it back when we're done with breakfast."

Maybe.

Dashiell whines and rubs at his eyes, then shoves a handful of toast into his mouth, gumming it with his tongue.

"Chew, you silly boy." She turns her back on him, knowing he's more likely to do the right thing if she's not watching. "I've got to cook the eggs."

"Gggs!"

"Yup. Chew."

Kate finishes up the scrambled eggs, putting them on a plate, adding the toast to the side. She pours some orange juice, heavily watered down, into a sippy cup for Dash, then gets milk for herself. Last doctor's visit he warned her about not getting enough calcium and Vitamin D, stuck inside all day like she is. Pregnancy apparently sucked a lot of it out of her bones too.

She sets her stuff down at the bar, then drags Dashiell's highchair all the way into the kitchen, positioning him next to her. He shrieks with glee as she does it, then claps his hands and makes the baby sign for more: it looks an awful lot like Castle's 'feed the birds'.

She never noticed that before. Kate laughs and shakes her head. "Sorry buddy, no more right now. Time for eggs."

She sticks her finger in the eggs and they're still a little hot, but she goes ahead and cuts them up, then drops them on his tray one piece at a time.

When he's contentedly chewing, Kate starts eating her own breakfast, just a few slices of toast. She wants some more coffee, but she should really drink the milk first.

She takes a big gulp. The silence mocks her.

She needs to make those phone calls. Now. Before the day gets past her.


	80. Chapter 80

West Park Presbyterian Church has a website. Kate finds the number for their preschool program on the laptop and dials before she can second guess herself. If Kelly, this woman that has a crush on her dad and maybe vice versa, answers the phone, Kate's not sure what she'll do.

Thankfully, the woman doesn't identify herself.

"West Park. How can I help you?"

Kate sits up straighter. "Yes. I'm looking for a preschool for my son. I was wondering if I could make an appointment to check out your program."

"Yes, ma'am. Any time you like."

Kate raises an eyebrow and takes a short breath. "Well. How about today?"

"That's fine. We're open from 7 to 7, but most of our kids get picked up by 2 or 3. So I suggest coming in sometime before then if you want to get a good look at what it's like when we're full."

"Are you full then? How long is your waiting list?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. There is no wait list. The only class we can't add to is the kindergarten."

"Oh." Kate takes a deeper breath, her chest easing. "Good. I. . .My son is a year and a half. We'd need preschool or daycare, something like that. What time is best for you guys today?"

"Best time to come is right after lunch, if you want to talk to the teacher, because the kids are taking their naps. If you just want to see what it's like for the kids, then right before lunch is better, around 10 or 11."

Kate chews on her lip. "How about ten o'clock then?"

"Yes, ma'am. Can I get your name and how many to expect?"

"Kate Beckett. Two t's. Uh, my husband and I, my son. So three of us."

"Thank you. I'll let the security guard know to let you in. You'll each receive a visitor's pass from the guard. Follow the guard's directions around to the circle drive. You can park in the visitors' lot just past there."

Kate memorizes the woman's instructions like it's vital information in a case, repeating the key words to herself to remember everything.

"Come in through the blue door. Someone will be there to greet you at ten this morning. Do you have internet access?"

Kate's thrown off guard by this question, like a first-timer in the interrogation room. "Uh. Yes. Yes I do."

"Good. If you go to our website, you'll find an application form you can download and print. Fill it out before you arrive this morning, if you don't mind, and that way we can have a record of your visit, and hopefully find the best fit for your son."

The West Park people sound *so* stinking organized. Kate has to admit it appeals to her. A lot.

"Thank you. I'll do that."

"Thank you very much, Ms. Beckett. We look forward to seeing you."

Kate ends the call and taps her chin with her phone, a little dizzy with relief. She tucks the laptop against her thigh and gets out of the chair, heading for the dining room.

Dashiell is scooping eggs up from his highchair tray, making truck noises as he motors them along the edge, gobbling them down with a sound like a dragon devouring his meal. Mid-chew, he sees her coming towards him.

"Mum-ma!" he says, throwing up both hands to her. A few pieces of egg fling off the ends of his fingers and hit the wall behind him.

"Hey there, buddy. Finish your breakfast. Momma's got to make a few more calls." She swipes her thumb down his cheek to wipe egg off his face, laying the laptop down on the dining room table. She heads into the kitchen for a paper towel.

"No, no!"

"Eggs, Dashiell." Kate runs water over the paper towel, then wipes down the wall behind Dash's chair, getting off as much egg as she can reach. How did he get egg up on the ceiling? She sighs, drags a chair over, and cleans it as best she can.

She throws the paper towel away, refills Dash's orange juice, then takes her cell phone to the living room, falling back into the big chair in front of the windows. She hesitates only a second longer, her thumb poised over the number 4, then grows irritated with her own cowardice, presses the button.

Her phone speed dials her father. She brings it to her ear, holding her breath. After eight rings, the phone clicks over to voice mail, as she expected. Her pounding heart slows minutely.

"Hey, Dad, it's Katie. Thanks for talking to Rick about preschool. We're headed over to West Park today to look it over. Um, if you could call me as soon as you can? I need to talk. . .I miss you. Have fun fishing."

She hangs up, her heart pounding erratically, her palms sweaty. She's a detective, and detectives make a thousand cold calls over the course of their casework. But these three phone calls this morning are going to give her a heart attack.

Two down. West Park was pleasantly. . .efficient. She likes that; it's a relief to think that there's a system to it. She didn't realize she was so nervous about preschool for Dash until she made the call. But now. . .it's okay. It's good.

Putting off the last phone call, Kate gets up again and heads for the dining room table and the laptop. She opens it, finds the church website again, and prints the preschool's application to Rick's wireless printer.

In his study, she flips through the five pages of questions, checking out the different requirements. She raises her eyebrows at some of the touchy feely questions, but these are the things Castle will love. Like: _Please list your child's social weaknesses that you feel we might address here at West Park._

Gag. Really? Ridiculous.

She is glad to see the note about peanut allergies at the top of the health section. _No child is allowed to bring peanut products into the designated peanut-free classrooms, marked with a red square on the door. The common areas are to remain peanut-free at all times._

Just the fact that this place has bothered to maintain peanut-free classrooms puts Kate's mind at ease. Castle will surely be okay with this, right? She hopes it's a fun place; Castle puts a high priority on fun.

Kate grabs a pen from his desk drawer and heads back into the living room; she's left Dash alone for too long. She picks up the pace down the hall and into the living room.

Oh no. Yeah. That was too long. Her fault.

Dashiell is covered in breakfast, head to toe in eggs and orange juice. She's not sure how he managed it, but he got the top off his sippy cup and dumped OJ onto his tray, then smeared his hands in it, his face. His hair. His shirt. Eggs stick to his skin, tangle in his curls. He beams a wide, fervent smile at her, his face a post-modern painting of eggs and OJ.

"Mum-mum-mum!"

"Oh baby," she sighs, dropping her phone, pen, and application in the chair by the window and heading towards her son. "What have you done with breakfast?"

"Yum-yum." He taps his fingers for more, the baby sign again, then grins at her. "Tote?"

"No, baby. We don't play with breakfast. We eat it."

"No. . .tote?" he whimpers, his face falling.

"Eat toast. Not fling it around." Kate glances behind the chair and sees pieces of toast and eggs stuck in random places. Orange juice drips down the walls. Orange stains her son's shirt. Grease marks from the eggs.

Kate lifts the tray off of the chair and steps carefully to the kitchen, dropping it on the counter. She rinses out a dishcloth and gingerly makes her way back to Dashiell.

She's at a loss as to where to start. Clean around him first? Clean him first and make him play in the living room while she cleans everything else? He's going to need a bath. His hair is a sticky mess.

Dashiell claps his hands and squeals. "Mum-ma! Tote?"

"No, baby. No more toast." She steps closer and realizes that he is sitting in a puddle of orange juice.

Maybe she didn't screw the lid back on the sippy cup very tightly. Or maybe he is just that clever. And not the good kind of clever. The destructive kind. Kate swipes the cloth over his face and scrubs at his chin, making him squirm away from her.

"No, no. NO!"

"Yes. You made a mess, baby. I have to clean you off."

He grunts in the chair and twists his body around, planting his face in the back of the seat. Kate takes a step back, reassesses her plan.

"Okay, kid, sit in it. I've got to call your Grams first anyway." Kate drops the wet dishcloth on the counter and heads for the living room, leaving her son babbling in the chair behind her. Later. Deal with it later.

Interestingly enough, he's not complaining.

Kate grabs her phone and hits 5. She waits only half a beat before Martha comes on the line.

"Kate? Darling, what's wrong?"

Kate shivers and draws her knees up into the chair. "No. Nothing. I'm sorry. I don't call very often, do I?"

"Enough, darling." Martha sounds breathless.

"Are you at home?" Kate asks, twisting a strand of hair around her finger and closing her eyes.

"Um, at the moment? No. . ."

Kate laughs, her eyes popping open. "Mm, Martha."

"Darling, I'm an old woman. Old women can do exactly as they please."

"I guess so."

"I'll be heading out in another couple of hours. You know it's only 8:30. In the morning. Wesley and I were. . .sleeping."

Kate grins to herself and leans her head back. "I know; I'm sorry again. I wanted to come over to the apartment and get something out of storage. If you don't mind."

"Katie. Dear one. You have a key."

"Well, yes. I do. But I. . ." Kate blushes, even though no one's around to see it. Martha is always able to get her with that blunt honestly. In ways Castle himself never can. "I just didn't want to walk in on. . .anything."

Martha's rich laughter translates well over the phone, wraps itself around the room almost as if the woman herself was here. "Touche. But you can come over any time. It's your apartment!"

"No," Kate says quickly. "It's not. It's not mine. It's yours."

Martha is quiet for a moment, accepting that distinction. Kate knows she's thinking about last Christmas now too. "And I thank you for that. But please do come over. And you're right, Katie. We don't call each other all that often."

The gentleness in Martha's voice is inviting. Kate chews on her lower lip and steels herself. "I know. I'm going to. . .I will be better about it."

"I believe you will," Martha says softly. "I shall endeavor to do the same."

"How about we have lunch with you today?" Kate spits out, offering the invitation before her brain catches up. "We can meet you somewhere, then head back to the apartment with you?"

"Who is we?"

"Oh, forgot to mention. I took today off. Cas-Rick needed to get his book finished. But we've got an appointment at a preschool nearby and so we could just meet you somewhere after that."

"Are you bringing my grandson with you?"

"Of course," Kate laughs.

"Excellent. Let's do it. Say noon?"

"Perfect. You up for burgers?"

"I can do a veggie burger. Are you talking about Huffy's?"

"That's the place." Kate grins and tucks the phone between her ear and her shoulder, stands up to head back into the dining room. "We'll see you there at noon. Want to talk to Dashiell?"

She steps around pieces of breakfast, eyes on her son. Dash is sucking orange juice out of his tshirt. Lovely. Oh, and he must be finding pieces of egg too, because he's chewing something.

"Ooh, yes, I do. I do."

"Okay, I'll put him on." Kate leans over and holds the phone close to Dashiell's ear. "Baby, it's Grams. Say hi to Grams."

Dashiell takes his shirt out of his mouth with a loud sucking sound, grins at his mother. "Dam-dam!"

Kate hears Martha's delighted laugh on the other end, but so does Dash. He jerks away from the phone with startled horror, peering at his mother's hand as if it has come alive.

"It's not like you haven't seen a phone before, you silly boy. Say hi to Grams," Kate prompts. "In Mommy's phone."

Dashiell eases closer to the phone, lifts a finger like he's going to touch the screen. Kate pulls her hand out of the way, raises an eyebrow at her son.

"No touching. You're a mess. Say hi to Grams."

When she holds the phone close, Dashiell puts his ear up to it. His face goes from apprehensive to astounded in seconds, so that must mean that Martha is talking to him on the other end.

Dashiell chortles with laughter a moment later, starts babbling into the phone in his peculiar language, wriggling in his seat with excitement. Kate's arm gets tired, holding the phone in this awkward position, but she steps a little closer and props her elbow on her hip.

"No, no!" Dash shouts, but his face is still lively and excited. So it must not be too bad, whatever it is.

Kate glances around the dining room while Grams entertains Dash on the phone. The eggs have congealed; the orange juice is drying. She hates to leave it for Linda, but Kate is so not looking forward to cleaning this up. And leaving it any longer might damage the walls or wood floor. Or the fabric.

"Dam," Dashiell says. "Mumma." And then a string of baby words that Kate can only assume is his recap of their day. Or a blow by blow of the breakfast debacle.

Suddenly, Dash giggles and makes a smacking noise into the phone with his lips, like he does when he's searching for his pacifier. Kate knows exactly what that sound means and brings the phone up to her own ear.

"Martha?"

"I'm here. Did you hear that? I think he blew me a kiss."

Kate laughs. "I think he did too." Martha always ends her calls to Alexis the same way: "Kisses," and then her lips smack over the phone. Kate has seen Alexis do it, and she bets Dashiell has too.

"Lovely. He sounds enthusiastic this morning."

"If you mean entirely too awake, then yes. He does. Which is why I'm the one out here cleaning breakfast off the ceiling and Castle is the one in bed still asleep."

"Ah, yes. Dereliction of duty?"

"No," Kate sighs, grabbing the wet dishcloth again. "Volunteer service. My mistake."

Martha laughs again. "All right then, Katie. Darling. I'll let you get to it."

Kate smiles, real warmth in it for once, and hesitates, remembering how it felt when Alexis said it, knowing that all Martha wants is for Kate to know she's family. Through and through.

Despite last Christmas.

"Thanks. We'll see you at noon," she says finally, chickening out at the last second.

"Noon. Till then, dear one."

Kate's heart clenches at the term. Now or never.

"Thank you. . .Mother."

She hangs up before Martha can say another word, cheeks flaming.


	81. Chapter 81

The dump of a damp, wriggling body on top of his own wakes him immediately. From deep, black slumber to alert, sunlit surprise. Castle grunts and tries to curl around the thing, but it's already slithering down and bouncing-

Bouncing!

Castle yelps and jerks the boy away from the family jewels. He blinks away the last bits of sleep and finds a wet, naked toddler grinning at him. "Uh. . ."

"Oh, oops," Kate calls out from the doorway. "He got away."

"He's naked?"

"We had to take a bath," Kate explains, a blue towel in hand. She comes closer, reaching for their son, but Dashiell struggles in his father's grip and slips away.

"Um. What time is it?"

"Nine. I was about to wake you up anyway."

"I think he climbed up here and jumped on me," Castle complains, rubbing at his face with a hand, trying to keep his other hand wrapped around Dash's ankle.

Kate helps herd the boy away from the edge of the bed, then sits down on her side. "I brought him downstairs to change into his clothes, then I had to answer my phone-"

"Was it the station?"

She nods slowly. Rick's stomach plummets. Dashiell bumps his head into his father's chest and leaves a wet ring on Rick's skin. He brushes a hand down his chest and clears his throat. "Do you have to-"

Kate starts before he can say anything more. "We've got an appointment at West Park at 10. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?"

He blinks, taking a moment to readjust his thinking. "Uh. Thirty? Yeah. Why?"

"The preschool. I called this morning. All three of us. And Alexis is at school; she left a note. She'll be coming back here tonight, late."

"Late," he echoes, trying to catch up with this conversation.

"Thirty minutes, Castle." Kate warns him with a look, grabbing for the boy with both hands and hauling him up. "I'll wrestle the wild man into some clean clothes while you shower."

Darn. He's already missed shower time with Kate? Thirty minutes isn't enough time for him to actually get clean, dressed, and also do what he wants to her too. And he doesn't think there's any place safe enough to put Dash where the kid couldn't crawl out. Or climb. Or pick the lock.

"Thirty minutes," he sighs and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "But I need a good morning mmph-"

Her mouth steals his last word, her tongue aggressive and thorough, coffee spiced. She's making him hungry in more ways than one, and then Dashiell puts his hand out to his father's chest, pushing for space.

Kate breaks away, bent awkwardly at the knees to keep her balance as she leans over him. Castle releases the back of her neck, not sure when he put his hand there, and ruffles Dashiell's wet curls. Kate still has one hand on his shoulder; he can see her heart beating in her neck.

"You okay there, Kate?"

She brushes her hand along his cheek in a gesture he can't identify or understand, then she leaves the room, Dashiell kicking and swinging his legs as they go.

Well, that wasn't really an answer, was it?

* * *

><p>It only takes him fifteen because he's anxious about Kate. A little bit anxious, not overblown anxious, and the only reason his anxiety is so manageable is because of the really good conversations they've had the last few days.<p>

Suffice it to say, he's made it through his shower and into his clothes in record time. He shaves with his electric razor as he walks out of the room, even though he knows that Kate hates to find the little whiskers all over the floor. But this seems like mitigating circumstances.

"Morning," he says, using a few fingers to pull the skin down on his chin so that the razor can get the crevices. She told him once he had a knobby chin. He rubs a hand across his neck to check the stubble, then over his cheeks and chin. All good. Good enough anyway.

"Daddeee!" It's the only warning he has before he feels the little head butt into the back of his knees. Castle bends, leans down to squeeze Dash's shoulder.

"Hey buddy," he grins, using one hand to grab Dashiell under the armpit and pull him up. He drops the electric razor on the counter to carry Dash, then realizes his mistake and snatches it back up again.

Kate eyes him for a minute.

Castle leans over level with the counter, inspecting it for little stubble-hairs. He brushes his hand across the granite, giving Kate a nervous smile.

"Nice, Castle. Now it's on the floor?"

"No. There was nothing. I cleaned it out this morning before I started using it."

She raises an eyebrow but says nothing more about it. Castle juggles Dash against his side and looks for a place to put his razor.

Kate sighs. "In the fruit bowl then, Castle. If you must." She grumbles under her breath about being too lazy to walk it back into the bathroom and put it where it goes.

He grins at her, coming around the center island to give her cheek a quick kiss, then depositing his razor in the empty bowl. "We should get apples at the market today. If we can."

"Well, not now!" She wrinkles her nose at the razor in the bowl and pushes on his shoulder. Dashiell tries to climb out of Castle's arms and manages to get hung up, both hands on the counter but his feet still trapped.

"I'll wash it out first," he promises. "We have enough time to swing by Modesto's and get some breakfast?"

Kate snorts on a laugh and looks at Dashiell. "Well, Castle. We've already had breakfast. But we've got time to pick something up, sure."

"You had breakfast? What?" He follows her out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

Kate grabs her badge, which is still in the bowl on the entryway table after their party-crashing, but Castle slaps her hand. "Don't need that."

"Slap me again, and we'll just see-"

Castle shuts her up with another one of those aggressive kisses, all on his side this time, his thumb at her chin to angle her towards him. She's instantly involved with his mouth, her own hand coming to rest against his cheek, her body slipping between his legs, her other hand against Dashiell's back as if to keep him there, or still, or out of the way.

He's noticed that she gets really. . .demanding when she's worried. He kinda likes it. But he does wonder what she's stressing about.

Castle gasps when they break away, his heart thundering. He's almost not awake enough for this. He hikes Dash up higher in his grip; the boy had begun to slip. "Gotta have breakfast if we're gonna keep doing that."

"We're going to be late if you keep doing that," she whispers, and he can hear how much she wants to just stay in. Forget the preschool appointment.

So he stiffens his spine and decides to be the responsible one this time. "Let's go, Kate. I'm interested in seeing this preschool." Dashiell is leaning out of his arms again, distracting him.

She steps back, licking her lips (that is *so* not fair), then brushes her hair back over her shoulder. "Yeah. Preschool."

Kate turns her back on him, grabs the messenger bag with all their stuff.

"Did you pack him some snacks last night?"

"Yeah," he says, leaning to tip Dash back into his arms. "The aquatics. The calcium fortified letters." He won't say goldfish or cheetos because then Dash would be begging for them nonstop all day.

"Letters?" Kate gives him a startled look.

He grins. "Os!"

He startles a laugh out of her, which she looks so chagrined to be tricked into, then slings the bag over her shoulder. "Let's go, wordsmith."

"Yes, ma'am. Oh, wait. My wallet-"

"Still in the bag," she says, patting the outside pocket as she unlocks the door.

Castle holds it open for her, grabs his keys on the way out. As he turns to lock the door, Dashiell starts digging his feet into Castle's ribs, climbing him to get a look at Kate. His mother is already heading for the elevator to press the call button, and Castle has to let the kid slide down his leg and rush for her as he locks the door.

"Incoming!" he hollers.

He hears Kate's oof, then the thud of the deadbolt falling into place. Castle turns back around and sees Kate with a hand against the wall to hold herself up, her other hand at Dashiell's back as the boy hugs her around the knees.

"Let go of Mommy, kiddo," he admonishes, prying him off. "She can't move."

"Mooo!" Dashiell lows proudly. "Cow. Mooooo."

Kate laughs and stumbles away from them, turning to the elevator as its doors open. "That's right, baby. Cows go moo."

"Bot-bot."

Castle chuckles at that one as they step on the elevator. "Chicken?" Bock-bock?

"Tict-in! Bot-bot."

Kate giggles, then slaps a hand over her mouth at Castle's incredulous look. "I do believe, Detective, that you just giggled."

She shakes her head. "Nope. Not at all. You misheard."

"Ball-ball?" Dash asks, tilting his head against Castle's shoulder.

"Uh, sorry, buddy. No baseball today."

"Today's a travel day, baby. No game til Tuesday, and it's away."

"We could watch it on tv, Dash. That would be fun too."

Dash looks back and forth between them, his face wrinkling like he's trying to imitate Kate's eyebrow raise. Apparently, they've hit the limits of his understanding.

Kate leans against the back of the elevator as they ride it down, chewing on her lip. Castle is just about ready to force her to admit to whatever it is that's bothering her when she finally looks at him.

"I might have. . .done something stupid."

Castle isn't really expecting this. He stares at her a second. "What did you do?"

"I told your mother that we'd meet her for lunch today. At noon. Huffy's."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Are you. . .serious?"

"I called her."

"You called *her*? Are you. . .wow. Okay. Um."

"Are you okay with that?" she asks, biting on her lower lip as they elevator doors open onto the garage.

"Yeah. Of course, Kate. Always. Why did you call though?"

"I have some stuff still at the apartment," she says softly, not looking at him.

He's glad for that because this way she doesn't see the hurt that flashes across his face. He's really got no reason to be hurt, but it hurts anyway. Escape plan. That's the thing. He knows that was Kate's way of keeping control of her life back when she was pregnant and clearly not in control of much happening to her. But still.

"You want to. . .go get it today?"

"Yeah, uh. I need to clean some stuff out."

"Okay," he says softly, clicking the key fob to unlock the car doors. But he doesn't exactly understand why now.

Kate opens the back door of the Audi and holds out her hands for Dash. "Are you okay with this? Because you don't look okay with this."

He shrugs. "She's my mother."

Kate nods once and leans down to put Dashiell in his carseat. Castle watches her and sighs, reaching out a hand to lay it against the small of her back. He likes the feel of her muscles as she straps in the boy, likes tracing the ridge of her spine.

His mother. Well. It can't go any worse than last Christmas. Can it?

Kate straightens up and turns into him, touching his chest. "I've got to meet her halfway here."

He nods. "I know. She's been. . .calling, you know."

"I know you talk to her every week."

"Alexis does too."

She frowns. "I know. I never wanted to come between you. I didn't ask you to pick sides. Did I?"

He shakes his head. "No. You didn't." He appreciates that much.

"It was. . .Alexis that made me call her."

"Did Alexis say something to you about it?" he asks, shocked if that's the case.

"No, no. Just, you know. She called me mom. And I. . .it was really nice. So I called your mother because I just wasn't. . .I wasn't fair to her." Kate glances away from him.

Castle's heart is pounding in his chest. He never thought he'd hear Kate say this. His mother was drunk, of course, and didn't mean it quite like how it came out. But Kate had been unfair. And overly sensitive, but who wouldn't be about her own mother?

"Kate. I. . .I really want for this to be okay."

"I know. I'm trying. . .I called her mother."

Castle stumbles back, her words like a physical shove. "You. . .what?"

"Was that. . .not right? That's what she said, last Christmas, and I-"

Castle crushes her against his chest, squeezing his eyes closed and barely able to breathe. In four months, he didn't expect to have come along quite this far with Kate.

"That's amazing," he whispers. "But Kate. Only if you really want to. Only if-"

"I know," she says, shaking him off. "I know that. But when Alexis just kinda tossed it out there. . .it feels like a bomb going off in my chest. But good." Kate frowns again and shakes her head against his shoulder. "That sounds bad. I mean, it's a good thing. It feels good. And it's made me think about what your mother said, and how. . .I just. . .I kinda went nuts on her."

"Postpartum," he says immediately, and she slaps him. Old joke.

"I just wasn't thinking. And you know, you *know* Castle, that Christmas is hard for me. And it was the first Christmas we were all together, and I just kept thinking about how my mom wasn't there, and then your mother brought up all that stuff about your father. . .oh jeez, I lost it. So she told me to call her Mother and I lost it."

"She knew better than that, Kate," he says, kissing her forehead. If he didn't know better, he might think her blow-up last Christmas was in some way. . .defending him. "She knew better. And she said it anyway. And there's your dad, looking more and more uncomfortable with every drink she tossed back, more and more disapproving the drunker she got-"

"Rick," she says softly, bringing her hand up between them to touch his lips, silencing him.

He pauses there for a moment, takes a breath to clear his thoughts. "Kate. My mother. . .you know the issues. You know everything. I've told you stuff I hope never gets back to her. But everything you said was true. It probably should've been said a long time ago-"

She squeezes his lips between her fingers, shushing him again. "But not by me. Damn it, Castle. Not by me."

He kisses her fingers, reaches up to capture her hand and kiss the flat of her palm, the inside of her wrist. "Maybe not. But I'm a little cowardly when it comes to my mother."

"You are," she laughs, but there's not a lot of mirth in it. He glances at her face and sees tears shining in her eyes. He's surprised because he thinks maybe she's worried about him, not so much worried about what Martha said to her last Christmas.

"Kate. You know Mother and I are okay. We're good. And she loves you-"

Kate shakes her head again. "I know. I know. I love her too, of course I do-"

"She does, and she knows that. You didn't believe me when I told you, but it's true. She honestly can't remember much from that night. She knows you yelled at her, but she keeps telling me that she can't remember why. Or what she said. So, seriously, Kate. The damage is minimal."

"I still need to do this."

"Are you. . .are you planning on talking to her about this at lunch?"

Kate steps back, looks at him horrified. "No!" She bumps up against the open door, glances back to Dashiell in his carseat. "Should I?"

"No. Really, no."

She nods and turns to shut the door. Castle can see Dashiell kicking his feet at the back of the driver's seat, bouncing; he's found old golfish crackers in the seat, apparently, because he's got two in his hand and is chewing. Great. "I wasn't going to. I just need to clear some stuff out of the apartment."

Her apartment. He wishes she'd say that instead of 'the apartment', so that it would be clear that Kate doesn't live there anymore. And won't be. But clearing stuff out is a good sign, right?

"Okay, that's fine. We'll have lunch, pretend like it didn't happen."

"Is it going to be really awkward?" Kate says, moving around to the passenger's side. Castle gets behind the wheel, waits for her to buckle up before he starts the engine.

"It might be awkward at first, but I think this is a necessary step forward. She's good at smoothing things over."

"She is," Kate agrees, brushing her hair back from her forehead, then leaning towards the in-dash display. She punches up the GPS and types in the address for West Park.

"And like I said, she doesn't remember the details, babe."

"Seriously, you're gonna get hurt if you keep calling me that." She gives him a threatening glare, but he sees the quirk in her lips, the humor in her eyes.

Exactly what he was going for. He smiles back at her and leans over to kiss her cheek. She shoves on his face, pushing him away with a chuckle. He puts the car in reverse, slides his arm along her headrest so he can see behind them.

"Let's go check out this preschool. I'm gonna hate it."

"Shut up. Keep an open mind, stud."

He grins and heads for the garage's exit.


	82. Chapter 82

Castle actually does like being the passenger. He gets to do the fun stuff when he's not driving. But Kate got into the passenger side and left him to drive this morning, and he's not really sure why until she unfolds a couple sheets of paper from the bag.

"What's that?"

"Nosy."

"That shouldn't surprise you. What is it?"

"Application for West Park." She's still shuffling through pages. "And who said I was surprised?"

He grins and checks his rearview mirror to change lanes. "How many pages is that?"

"About six. She said to go ahead and fill it out, save time. But I don't know."

He's already doing a little bit of panicking at the thought of Dashiell being away from him, handled by strangers, so her hesitation about all this is reassuring. He knows he should be the one to encourage her to figure this thing out with her Dad but if figuring it out includes shipping Dash off to a preschool-

"What don't you know?"

"We've not even seen it. And my dad's AA meeting is here-"

"It was *his* suggestion." He needs to shut up; he needs to stop pimping the preschool because he doesn't want to do this in the first place.

"I thought you wanted to keep Dash at home," she says, giving him a look. Her phone goes off and she startles, hikes her hip to get at it in her back pocket.

Castle follows the GPS's soothing voice and turns right, no longer thinking about preschool. He can tell by Kate's salutation that it's the precinct. Twice this morning. Or more, possibly, when he wasn't around.

"Esposito, I told you-"

She stops, listening again, and Castle shoots her a glance.

"Oh. They found him where?"

Silence reigns as she listens, chewing on a thumbnail and glancing out of the window, not seeing. He risks a glance at the side of her face and sees that deep brown sparkle. She's interested.

"It was locked? What about-"

Kate glances over at Rick, her eyebrows furrowed together. She dips the phone, places her hand over the mouthpiece, and looks like she's about to say something. But she hesitates, chews her lip again, and goes back to the phone.

"Start off with the staff, Esposito. Look there first. Financials. Yeah. No. No. I'm not. Tuesday, Espo. Tell Ryan not to wait for the bloodwork."

She hangs up and shoves the phone into her pocket; her hands look nervous on the pages.

"So. . ."

"Not going," Kate interrupts.

"If they need you-"

"We have an appointment."

"Yeah, but after that-"

"Castle. I'm trying to be good here," she spits out, glaring at him.

Rick laughs, turns left when the GPS tells him to, gives Kate a smirk. "All right. Okay. But just so you know, good doesn't mean you can't do your job."

Kate doesn't say anything to that, just goes back to the application. "How about this one? What faults, if any, do you see in your child's behavior?"

"None. Absolutely none-"

"Castle," she huffs.

"No, write that down. It's funny. I wonder how many of these parents actually say that?"

"Castle," she growls.

"Daddy!" Dash shouts from the backseat, as if he's just as put out as his mother.

Castle laughs. "Okay, okay. Dash? What are your worst behaviors?"

"Daddy!"

Kate laughs at that one.

"Daddy is *not* your worst behavior," he mockingly scolds. "Maybe running off?"

"Wun, wun, wun!"

"Yeah, you like to run."

"Stubbornness," Kate adds, writing stuff down.

"Are you writing these?"

"I wrote Daddy, for sure."

Castle sticks his tongue out at her, causing Dashiell to erupt into giggles in the back and start kicking his seat joyfully. "You did not."

"I did." She holds it up for him, flashing the page in his face too fast for him to see.

"You didn't."

She sighs, as if disappointed with herself. "No. I didn't. I wrote 'runs off' and 'stubborn' and 'likes to climb.' Anything else?"

"What do you mean, anything else? There's tons of stuff. Lots. He's a walking dictionary of bad behavior."

"He is *not*," she says heatedly, flashing him a look.

He lifts an eyebrow, glancing at her before turning into the guard gate at West Park. "Sure. Okay."

"He's just energetic, Castle. And he likes to be around a lot of people. And he's. . ."

"Hold on, I've got to talk to the security guard." Castle laughs to himself as he powers down his window, a little proud of her indignation. Two weeks ago, Kate was the one with a whole long list of Dash's terrible behaviors. So this is a funny switch.

The security guard comes out of his little house with a clipboard, jots down their license plate number, then heads back to the driver's side window with a packet.

Castle smiles charmingly. "I'm here for an appointment to tour the preschool?"

"Your name?"

He glances at Beckett and she nods. "Uh, I think it's under my wife's name. Kate Beckett?"

The security guard scans down the list and then nods. _Beckett_ is clearly written across the packet in his other hand, but the fact that this guy's a stickler for security only makes Castle relieved. *If* his son does end up going to preschool, he needs to know that he can count on their security. Especially since Castle is somewhat. . .high profile at times.

"Yeah, right here. I've got two visitors' badges for you, and a name tag for the child. If you'll print the child's name clearly, and affix it to the back of your child's shirt-"

Castle takes the sharpie and nametag, hands it over to Kate to let her handle it. The security guard is giving him driving directions so they'll wind up at the correct parking lot, and he's trying to pay attention. The guard gatehouse is much like the entrance to a parking garage, except that there's no garage, just a maze of close, crowded buildings.

Kate passes the marker back to Castle; he hands it to the guard and thanks the man for his help. Kate has twisted around in the seat to slap the nametag on Dash's back. When she turns back around, Castle heads for the school.

He's not looking forward to this.

* * *

><p>Kate lets Castle wrangle Dash out of his carseat while she hangs the visitor's pass lanyard around her neck. Rick lets the boy down on the tarmac, keeping a tight hold of his arm, and takes the other pass from her.<p>

She glances up at the preschool entrance to the church building, butterflies in her stomach. She's not sure exactly why, just that she hasn't been inside a church since her mother died, and maybe also because she knows her father has found a home here.

And then of course, there's just that first day of school feeling. . .

The front of the preschool building offers three sets of double doors dwarfed by a narrowing arch that reaches up at least four stories. She's not sure how this church has managed so much real estate, but the buildings are crowded together here, and this parking lot looks like it was once a private garden, paved over squeeze out as much space as possible.

Behind her is the sanctuary, according to the map the guard handed them; the front entrance looks the same as the preschool's: double doors and an architectural flourish of a rising archway. Strangely enough, it gives the impression of a stained glass window. A covered walkway between the two bisects the parking lot.

Kate takes point and heads for the preschool by way of the walkway, hearing Castle and Dash behind her. Dashiell sounds like he's taking huge jumps over the parking lot's lines, most likely with his father's help. Kate glances back when she gets to the front doors, sees Castle swinging Dash high, the grin on the boy's face as he's in flight.

She presses the buzzer next to the middle set of doors and waits. The glass is tinted; she can't see inside.

Castle keeps a tight grip on Dash she notices, relieved, even as the boy jumps up and down in place. His hoodie flops on his back, hiding and revealing his nametag. He's wearing a different tshirt because of the breakfast debacle; this one is dark grey with a picture of a green dinosaur on the front saying 'Rawr'. Another Castle purchase; he said it was an online comic strip.

Dash's black pants are jeans with the cuffs rolled up to show his green plaid chuck taylors. Kate checks him over once more, confident that he at least looks put together, if he doesn't always act it. A little too hipster for her taste, but adorable in his short dark curls and his jumping-happy grin.

"Here?" Dash asks, darting forward only to be snatched back by the tether of Castle's arm. "Daddy. Here?"

"We're at a school, buddy." Castle heaves him back to his side. "We're gonna see if this school might be a place you like."

"Sue? Sue, sue. Mommy, sue!"

"Yeah, baby, school-"

Before she can say anything more, the door pops open and a short woman smiles at them to come inside. Her hair is brown with highlights, golden in the light, wearing jeans and a solid colored shirt. Wedding band on her finger; she looks like a really sweet mom.

Kate shakes her hand as she walks inside. "I'm Kate Beckett. I called earlier-?"

"Yes, yes. Beth took your call. I'm Kim Clements, the director here." She shakes Castle's hand as well, smiling at him, then leans down to take Dashiell's hand as well. "Hey there. I'm Ms. Kim. What's your name?" She doesn't baby talk to him, doesn't sweetheart him. Kate likes her already.

"This is Dashiell," Kate says, nudging the boy with her knee to propel him forward. Dash glances up at her, then back to the lady for an unsure moment, then pops out with a huge grin and open arms.

"Aww," Kim murmurs, pulling the boy into a hug with a smile on her face. "Thank you, Dashiell. I needed that."

Dash grins; he actually looks shy, which blows Kate away. Wow. This woman is amazing, and Kate has only seen her for thirty seconds. She's kinda just stolen Dash's heart.

Dashiell lets Kim take his hand, and the little boy glances back to his mother as if to check that it's okay. His eyes are shining, that soft smile tugging at his lips, and suddenly Kate understands why Castle thinks he looks so much like her. Looking at her over his shoulder, sly and tentatively thrilled, Kate can see herself in him, the part of her not used to being happy, the part of her not sure if she should take everything she's being offered.

She wants to kiss him. She wants to gather him up and share it with him, this feeling, but she only smiles back at him, encouragingly, and wishes Castle would act like Castle and take her hand without her permission.

She wishes it with all her heart.


	83. Chapter 83

Castle watches Ms. Kim's thorough and clever seduction of his son with a tortured heart. He wants Dashiell to love it here, of course he does. But he hates to think of dumping Dash with strangers, all because the boy's father can't hack it.

Alexis was just so much easier. How did everything get so complicated in the last fifteen years?

"We can do this a couple different ways," Kim begins, her blue eyes as calm as the deep ocean, hypnotizing. "We can let your son play in the room with the others his age while I show you around, or he can stay with you. Or a mixture of the two."

Dashiell is like a little statue at Ms. Kim's side, unmoving, barely breathing, eager to please. Entirely Rick, yes, he knows that, sees it. Puppy dog loyalty. It's still a little heart-breaking to see the boy's allegiance switched so quickly.

Kate glances to Castle, but he shrugs back at her. Clearly, he's not going to be any help here. Why should he make it any easier on themselves? But he has to admit that he *can't* do the parenting all alone every day, and judging by the phone calls from the 12th this morning, Kate's not available for much longer to help out like this.

He groans to himself. He doesn't want her to stop doing her job; he knows it requires odd hours and strange phone calls and missed dinners. That's fine. It really doesn't bother him. But he's single parenting this kid, and it's taking more of a toll on him than he expected.

And he does think they need to have a conversation about Kate taking on too much, about both of them taking on too much, but not right here. Not in front of the lovely, Pied-Piper-like Ms. Kim.

"How about we tour together, then let Dash play while we talk?" Kate suggests, raising an eyebrow at Castle.

He sighs, glances down at his shyly grinning son, then nods. "Yeah."

Might as well. None of this is going to be easy.

Ms. Kim takes Dash's hand and heads towards the rest of the preschool, walking them through the wide lobby. Rick notices children's paintings along the far wall, all hung at a child's eye level, depicting sunshine and houses and stick-figure families. He's got a few of those from Alexis's days as a budding, five year old artist; Dashiell is more into finger painting with black and yellow.

"This is our check in desk," Ms. Kim says, leading them to a glassed-in receptionist-like area where a woman sits at a desk, making notes. "We have someone man the desk from 7:00 until 2:30; you sign your son in here in the morning, sign him out here in the afternoon. If he were to stay past 2:00, then you go through the carline outside and we'll have you sign the clipboard."

Castle is again impressed with their security measures. These are things he doesn't think Kate has exactly thought about (she doesn't always remember he's famous), but it's reassuring to know that not just anyone can come in off the street and take his kid home. Richard Castle's kid. Rick makes a mental note to talk with Kim Clements about the security issues surrounding his family.

"If you walk past here," Kim continues, her pace steady and a little slow as she holds Dash's hand. "This is the older kids' hall." The first doorway to the left of the sign-in desk leads to a long hallway, brightly lit, blue carpet, more kids' pictures. The doors are all decorated with projects and teachers' names.

"Was this a doctor's office at one point?" Castle asks, gesturing back towards the reception area.

Ms. Kim smiles. "Yes it was. Good eye. The front still looks like it, doesn't it?"

Castle nods, but he's still nervous, fishing around for conversation starters because he just doesn't feel right doing this. His finger taps against his thigh. He wants to do it himself, raise his son, have those wonderful father and child moments he got with Alexis.

It irritates him that he can't. That Kate seems to think he's silly for it.

"Older kids are here?" Kate prompts.

"Fours and Fives. We have four classes of Fours this year, and we have one class of Fives, which is really just a preK class for kids who are being held back. Lots of boys," she grins.

Castle lets everyone go ahead of him, pausing to peek into classrooms through the windows. Kate follows the woman along the hall; she seems amused by how docile Dashiell is as he holds Ms. Kim's hand. Castle notices Dash peering up at his new best friend from beneath his lashes. Little flirt.

Pride wars with irritation.

They turn the corner, heading down another hallway, and Ms. Kim pauses in front of a door with a bright warning on the glass. "This is a peanut-free classroom, and the hallways, lobby, playground, and common areas are also peanut-free. We take this seriously. The little girl in this classroom, Nora, is three years old and the sweetest little thing. But every parent of a child in her class signed a contract with us, stating that they promise to keep peanut products out of their child's lunch, out of the snacks they bring, everything."

Kate reaches out and touches the brightly colored placard. "Will the parents know before class starts if there's a kid with a peanut allergy?"

"Usually. And we can switch a child to another classroom if the parents can't make that commitment. Some can't. It's difficult to pay attention to every little thing that goes in the lunch box. Some parents only get healthy protein and fat into their kids through their peanut butter sandwiches, so it's something we can work with you on."

Castle puts his hand on his hips and glances down the short hall; they are positioned at the back of the building now, parallel to the front reception area. "All of these rooms three year olds?"

"Twos and Threes. Both. Would you like to peek in at a class?"

"Yes, please," Castle says with relish, reaching for Dash's hand automatically. Dashiell shrinks back against Ms. Kim's side, keeping hold of her hand instead. It shouldn't sting, but it does. He's an idiot; he knows he's being an idiot, but this is his son. He feels. . .proprietary about him. This is the kid that was the lima bean in Kate's belly, the little thing she told him she wished had never happened; this is Rick's son, the one he begged her for, pleaded with her, fought with her over.

And Kate's laughing at him, thoroughly amused. He gives her an evil eye and backs away from his traitorous son.

Kate laughs again and hooks her arm through his to comfort him. "Aw, poor baby. They grow up so fast," she whispers.

Castle elbows her with a glare. But it is shocking how quickly he feels the need to. . .not replace Dash, but replace this leaky place in his heart where the baby used to be (but where the baby now clearly doesn't want to be, nor does he want to be a baby either). And by replace, Castle's got visions of a tiny little girl, a precocious wild thing with all of Kate's fierce strength and stubbornness.

Scary how quickly he wants that. Rick shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and ignores the longing for another baby. Just because Dashiell is growing up, just like he should, doesn't mean Castle is going to get maudlin over it.

Of course, it might be too late to stop maudlin.

Ms. Kim is already opening the door to their left, ushering Dashiell in ahead of her and using her body like a blockade, just in case other children are at the door and want to get out. At least, that's what Rick thinks is the reason for it. From behind, Kat shoves on Castle to get him moving and they follow her inside the room.

Brilliant murals cover the walls, a pair of child-sized wooden tables on the left with little chairs, all empty. On the right are a bunch of stations and little kids playing. It's not loud, but it is noisy. Tolerable noise, surprisingly. It has the feel of barely contained energy that Castle loves, that Dashiell probably loves as well. Like there are all kinds of possibilities.

This is the same feeling he gets when he walks into a launch party or sees the line at a book-signing. Kate is tense beside him, feeling the energy but not feeding from it like Rick does. The classroom actually eases Castle's anxiety. A little bit.

The teacher is at a hip-high counter behind the tables; she glances up, then smiles at Ms. Kim. "Morning."

"Hey there, this is Dashiell. He wants to hang out for a little bit. Dashiell, this is Ms. Amy. She's the teacher for all these boys and girls."

Kate is holding Castle back near the doorway; they watch Dash stare up at Ms. Amy as if starstruck. A curious little girl in blue tights and a purple baby doll dress comes over and hangs around Ms. Kim, watching them, eying Dashiell.

Castle makes a move to prompt his son, but Kate tightens her hand on his elbow. Rick stays back, wondering if a kid with very little peer playtime under his belt can actually handle himself in a crowd of slightly older kids. He watches as Ms. Amy leans down and touches Dashiell's shoulder, saying something to him they can't hear from their spot near the door. Then she gestures to the other kids and Dash smiles that sweet, innocent smile that Rick has never before seen on his face.

Sweet and innocent? Dashiell?

Ms. Kim lets go of the boy's hand, and Dash heads straight to the train table, ignoring the little girl who follows him. A boy already playing with the trains watches warily, and Dash reaches over and grabs a free train, immediately putting it on the track. The boy watches for a moment more, then ignores Dashiell again.

At Rick's side, Kate looks up with a smirk. "Look at that. Your son is playing nice with the other kids."

"Playing *alongside* other kids, you mean."

"Same difference."

"Wait till one of 'em tries to take his train."

Kim has turned back to them and smiles, gesturing for the door. "Come on outside and we can watch for awhile."

Castle is reluctant to leave the controlled chaos of the classroom, but Kate drags him outside with a firm grip on his elbow. He takes up position at the long window just to the right of the door. He feels like he's in the observation room outside interrogation 2. Rick hasn't been to the precinct in so long now that the juxtaposition is dizzying.

Kim proudly points out the dress-up clothes, the play kitchen, the reading nook with beanbag chairs, the table of puzzles, and the blocks. About nine kids play happily in their stations, drifting between areas at times, a few playing together but most in parallel play.

"Ms. Amy teaches Twos, which I know is a little old for Dashiell. But the kids in here will be more likely to be fun for him."

Kate is all smiles. "What age ranges are the classes?"

"We have a nursery which goes up to ten months. A ten month to seventeen month room. After that we have 18 to 24 months. The young twos as we call them. Then twos, threes, fours, and fives."

"Dash is a year and a half," Kate says hesitantly, glancing at Castle before continuing. Why did she look to him for that? "If we enrolled him today. . .well, could we? Would there be a spot for him, and where?"

Oh, she was looking at him because she basically just committed their son to this preschool. _Thanks, Kate_. His chest feels too tight.

"As Beth told you on the phone, only the Fives are full right now. We do have spots open in the 18-24 class, and we would love to have Dash there. If you were hesitant to do that, we could bump Dashiell back down to the younger kids. But it looks to me like he's a fairly independent child; he's holding his own in there too."

Kim nods to the window, and Castle peers through the glass to see Dash in a circle in the middle of the room, all the other kids around him, Ms. Amy leading them in a song about the sun and the moon, judging by the way she rounds her arms.

Kate chuckles under her breath. "If by independent, you mean he has his own stubborn mind? Then yes."

Castle sighs. He hates that Dashiell is doing so well, hates that Kate is right. Maybe the kid really is bored at home. Maybe he does need more people around him to keep him from needing to act out.

Kim lets them observe in silence. Dashiell watches the other kids to see what he should do, clapping his hands when they do, stomping his feet like them, moving his arms in imitation of theirs. Ms. Amy starts a new song, pointing to each child in turn, and Dashiell bounces on his toes when Amy gets to him.

"This is what we call circle time," Kim explains quietly. "Sing a few songs, an academic lesson, then a moral lesson. Usually it's something like days of the week, colors, shapes, then a Bible story that teaches good character."

Even as she speaks, Ms. Amy is pulling out a children's Bible from underneath her chair. She opens it up to a bookmarked page and settles everyone down onto carpet squares. Dashiell has his own carpet square as well, but he sits on his haunches and holds onto the carpet like it might get away from him. Dash's eyes seem to be glued to the book in the teacher's hands.

Castle hazards a glance at Kate, trying to gauge how she feels about their son being taught Bible stories, but he can't tell what that face means.

"The Bible stories. . .?" Kate starts, but she pauses as if she doesn't know what to ask. Or how to ask it.

"We are a Christian preschool, and most of our students attend church somewhere. We pray before lunch and snack, and we sing kids' worship songs in circle time. The Bible story always teaches a good habit or a fruit of the spirit."

"What's that?" Castle asks, his nose practically pressed against the glass as he watches Dash.

"The fruits of the spirit are basically like good traits we're trying to help instill. Love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." Kim's voice goes up in a sing-song by the end of her list and she blushes. "Sorry, no matter how many times I say it, I end up singing the little song we teach the kids."

Rick mulls this over for a minute, but he honestly can't find anything wrong with teaching his son a little more patience. Kindness. Gentleness. He's not sure what faithfulness means, other than loyalty, but he's on board with that too probably. Kate looks thoughtful beside him.

"That sounds good," she admits, glancing again at Castle. He's still a little dazed by how fast this has all gone down. First Kate surprises him with all this stuff about her dad, then she's making phone calls to set up an appointment, and now she's throwing his kid into the deep end.

"He seems to like it. And I like it," she says.

Castle mournfully watches his son giggle with the class at the funny face the teacher is making. What Bible story includes funny faces?

Kate nudges his hip with hers, causing him to stumble, and he snaps his gaze back to her.

"He's having a blast," Castle sighs, admitting it bitterly.

"That's a good thing, Castle."

"Yeah," he sighs again. Ms. Kim is smiling gently at him, like she understands.

"Man up," Kate smirks, leaning in with a kiss as if that will take the edge off.

Rick accepts it willingly, his lips welcoming but not aggressive, since they have an audience. Kate steps back to look in at Dash herself. Castle watches over her shoulder, a hand at her waist.

The boy is still sitting on his haunches, but he's watching Ms. Amy read the Bible story and throwing his arms up in the air when the other kids do. Apparently, that's part of the story too. Faces and hand waving? Dash looks like he's been in preschool all year, rapt attention, joining in.

Kate is smiling; she looks surprised and pleased, probably by just how good Dash's acting.

It can't last.

"Do you both want to follow me to my office where we can talk? Or we can stay here for awhile."

Kate shakes her head and steps back from the window. "I think he's good. Castle?"

He turns to look at her again, sighs heavily. "Yeah. He doesn't need us."

"Oh, come on, you big baby. Let's go."

Maybe this has been Kate's evil plan all along? Kick their son out of the nest so that Rick will feel how empty it is, so that he'll give in to having another kid.

She's crafty enough to do it too.

Castle sighs again and follows them down the hall to Kim's office.


	84. Chapter 84

It's all set. Kate writes Kim Clements a check right then and there, even though she didn't expect to love it this quickly. She brought the checkbook associated with what Castle calls the Nikki Heat account, and it's the first check she's written from anything even remotely resembling Castle's money.

He's supposed to be pleased, but he doesn't look pleased. She doesn't even care that she's making this decision so unilaterally. Sometimes, someone has to step up and do the right thing. Castle needs time to do his own job, and Kate has to do hers, and this place is good. Really good. The people here are simply a godsend. And it's her father's recommendation; Ms Kim even knows of her father, as well, has seen him in service.

So. It's perfect. The hallways are filled with children's art, the teachers are laidback and caring, the director, Ms. Kim, seems like a horse-whisperer for kids. She certainly had Dashiell all calm and willing and attentive. Kate's got Dash signed up for the three day a week preschool class starting next week. And then, once the semester ends, they can revisit signing him up for a five day a week class. She'll have to really do a number on Castle to get him to agree to that, she knows, but this could be really great for them.

And Dash needs people. He needs socialization and kids his own age and adults that aren't family to teach him his colors and numbers. And good character-building traits too. She's not in love with the Bible stuff, but it's going to be hard for a kid with everything at his fingertips, a kid from an extremely wealthy family, to *not* be spoiled, to *not* act like a brat. Dash has the deck stacked against him in that regard. So if Bible stuff can help, can make him think about other people before himself or encourage him to work out his problems without hitting, then Kate is more than willing to let these people cram his head full of Bible.

The security issues have even been mostly resolved. The entrance is gated and all the staff have to wear IDs, plus the doors are locked all day long; they have to be buzzed in from the front desk or a staff member has to come let them in. And Ms Kim was receptive to any ideas they wanted to institute to protect Dash's identity here and his safety.

Kate laces her fingers through Castle's as they head back down the hallway, a couple thousand dollars lighter. This preschool program is just about the cheapest she's seen; Ms. Kim did warn her that they take in a lot of kids for whom West Park is their last chance. Kids who have special needs or are a behavioral problem. So every classroom has a student they have to work around or work with to be successful. Kate can only see how that would be a good thing for Dash, help him learn some tolerance and make a dent in his selfishness.

Kate knows she's grinning like an idiot when they collect Dash from the room filled with two year olds, but Dash looks pretty happy too. In fact, she gets a slobbery, open-mouthed kiss against her lips when she leans in to pick him up, and a tight squeeze of his arms around her neck. Two or three of the kids in the room are waving and yelling out, "Bye Dash! Bye!" as they leave. It's just too perfect.

Castle sighs when they get back in the car, but she's ignoring that. She drives the Audi while he sulks in the passenger seat. Dash is talking non-stop behind her, kicking his feet into the back of her seat, babbling at times and saying real words at other times. She's not sure which category "fish" falls into, but there's also "school" and "play" and "blocks."

Kate glances into the rearview mirror to see his grinning face. "You like your new school, little man?"

"Sue! sue! More sue!"

"Yeah, you'll get to go back next week. Your teacher's name is Ms. Jessie. Ms Amy will be your teacher next year."

Dash degenerates back to his nonsense words, which must mean something to him, but Kate's lost. She checks the lane and makes a quick left turn, then eases the Audi into a space right in front of them.

"We're only two blocks from Huffy's," she says, pleased with herself. And her parallel parking job. It's always a point of pride for her, how good a driver she is. Of course, the police academy training does help, but she's still a natural at it.

Castle doesn't say anything, just gets out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Kate waits until traffic lets up a little and opens her door. Castle is already leaning into the back to unstrap Dash from his restraints. Kate climbs out of the car and slams the door before another vehicle zooms past, then heads for the sidewalk and her family.

Dash is squirming for his freedom so Castle lets him down; Kate takes the boy's hand in hers while Castle shuts the car door. She clicks the locks with the key fob, then slides the keys into the bag over Castle's shoulder. Kate glances up at his face to gauge his mood. It's his mother they've got to meet for lunch.

Great. He's still pouting. She hates this.

Kate starts walking down the sidewalk, not about to feed his ego and baby him into a better mood. She's trying to maintain her own positive mental space for this lunch with his mother; she doesn't have time or energy to bully him out of his funk as well. He's an adult, let him act like one for once.

Dash whines and pulls on her hand, so she slows down, throwing a swift look of apology down at him. He's sucking on two fingers, which is strange, instead of thumb-sucking, which he did once or twice when he was really little and now not at all. Kate tugs at his fingers and they drop from his mouth without further incident.

Maybe he picked that up at preschool?

Hm, that's something she hasn't considered.

Well, they'll cross that bridge when they come to it. Right now, she's got to figure out what she's going to say to Rick's mother when they all sit down for lunch at Huffy's. Does she start with an apology for last Christmas? Even though she's not sorry for what she said; it needed to be said; someone had to say it. She is sorry for the strain it's put between them though.

But Castle says his mother doesn't even remember the conversation. Kate snorts to herself. Of course she doesn't, she was drunk. Which is the whole problem. Then and now. At least Martha doesn't live with them. At least she seems to appear sober when they're together.

Kate bites her tongue for thinking it, sighs as she meanders down the sidewalk with Dash at her side. Castle is a few paces back. Fine. She's not interested in seeing him pout beside her anyway.

She really should be more charitable to his mother, but it's difficult when Castle has told her only bits and pieces of what it was like for him as a child, and then refuses to talk to the woman about her problem now. He hints around it, makes funny jokes about it, but that's not good enough.

He did tell Kate, once, that it wasn't his business what his mother does to cope. Cope with what? she wanted to say. But she didn't. And she didn't bring it up again. And then they had Christmas together, and Kate felt both totally lacking as a mother and completely overwhelmed by the idea of being a mother without her own mom there for support, and Martha had just not been able to shut up about it and-

Dash stumbles, his momentum jerking her hand, and Kate rights him, glad to stop that train of thought. The boy regains his balance easily, then jumps ahead a few steps, tugging on her hand, then jumps again, a little leap frog over the sidewalk. Kate allows him the playfulness and tries not to think about last Christmas.

Just ignore it. This is what the Castles do, isn't it? Kate usually fits right in with that coping mechanism.

Castle comes up along Dashiell's other side, takes the boy's hand as well. Dash gleefully starts swinging between them, taking running leaps and giggling as he hangs in space. Kate, usually unwilling to be a human bungee cord, lets him swing, realizing that Castle is making an effort here, so she'll do the happy family thing with them for awhile.

"You finished sulking just 'cause you didn't get your way?" she asks, throwing him a quick look.

Castle's jaw flexes, which means he's *not* done, but he doesn't say anything to that. Just keeps walking. So he's put out with her. Fine. She can handle that. A few minutes alone with him will have him eating out of her hand again.

Maybe. He does look really pissed right now. And when he's had his mind set on something and she goes against him, he's not easily cajoled. Kate looks away from him and wonders if she should've tried harder to make him see. . .?

No. Ridiculous. This was the right thing to do. He'll see it eventually.

They cover the remaining block slowly, but Dashiell is having fun. He babbles to himself, repeats a few words over and over as he jumps from sidewalk square to sidewalk square. His little penguin walk when he's happy, butt shaking side to side, makes Kate smile.

Rick's mother is sitting at a cafe table outside of Huffy's, menus at their places; she waves eagerly in her overly large sunglasses. Kate lifts a hand to wave back, trying not to look half-hearted. Castle kisses his mother's cheek and lays a hand on her shoulder, then hefts Dashiell up to her level so the boy can greet his grandmother.

Dash squirms under the lipsticked attention, but giggles and yells for her. "Dam! Dam!"

"Hey there, my _enfant terrible_!" Martha takes him in hand and squeezes him in a tight hug. Kate finds a place at the table, deciding on putting Dash between her and Martha, with Rick at her other side next to his mother. The round wrought-iron table rocks a little as she sits.

Dashiell is squealing as Martha tickles him, then he squirms out of her arms and into his seat, smacking his head against the table. Kate pauses, trying not to look at him (since he usually takes his cues from her in regards to whether or not it hurts), but Dashiell rights himself without a whimper. He does notice the echoing, deep sound of the metal though, and starts banging his hands on the tabletop, pleased with himself.

Great.

"No, no, Dash. Not a drum. Lunch time." Kate catches his wrists with her fingers, giving him a stare, then releases his hands and puts his tupperware container of food in front of him. They'll get him something here too, but this should keep him busy while they order.

Dash abandons the drum to attack the tupperware; Kate slips her hands in and helps, prying off the lid to reveal strawberries, goldfish, and turkey slices. Castle made this up last night, just like he always does when they finish an excursion, refilling the snacks for the next one. He never forgets, not once. He always remembers to bring the kid's snacks with them.

Kate bites her lower lip and glances at him sitting next to her, but he's murmuring to his mother about a play, or a part, and not looking at her.

He's a good father. And a good partner. And she should've respected that more and had a conversation with him about preschool rather than springing it on him and then painting him into a corner with it. He couldn't whine about it in Ms Kim's office, could he? It'd be tactless. And Kate had counted on his good manners getting her way with that one.

A little bit ruthless of her.

Martha reaches across the table and takes her hand, and Kate realizes she's been staring at Castle. And now Castle is staring back, as if he knows exactly what she's thinking.

"Martha," she says softly, shifting her eyes to the woman.

"Dear one, thank you for calling me this morning. I'm so glad to see you all." There's a question behind it, but she won't come right out and ask it; Kate's grateful for that because she doesn't know what the answer would be.

Kate smiles and this time it's not faked. Because no matter Martha's issues, no matter her lifestyle, she does love them.

"We're glad too. We've missed you. How's the apartment?"

"Splendid!" And then Martha regales them with stories about her exploits and conquests in that apartment, G-rated version, all through their ordering and up until the food arrives.

Huffy's is a His and Hers cafe, with a split menu. Castle, funnily enough, always orders off the 'Hers' side of the menu, usually a salad with meat and a lot of cheese, of course. He's gotten the Bacon and Blue Cheese this afternoon, and Kate goes for the Mandarin Chicken. Martha orders a fruity alcoholic drink, which Kate makes a point of ignoring, and a salad as well, giving the waiter one of those Martha smiles.

Kate finds chicken strips on the menu for Dashiell, and as soon as they arrive, the kid abandons his deli turkey and makes a grab for the chicken.

Castle jerks it out of his path, quicker than Kate this time, and warns him. "It's hot, buddy. Too hot to eat right now. Finish your strawberries and let daddy cut it up for you."

Dashiell whines and rubs a hand over his eyes, smearing strawberries into his hair.

Kate wipes him down, not for the first time, and moves his tupperware container back into reach. "Eat this first while your chicken cools." Dashiell whines again and looks up at her with reproach, as if she is doing something all wrong. It's a little but amusing. Sitting outside has made Dash a little flushed, and his cheeks are bright even as he pouts at her.

Whew, just like his father. How could Martha ever-

She sighs, stops that train of thought again.

"What were you saying Mother?" Castle asks, using his knife to expertly cut thin pieces for Dash. Kate watches him for a moment, then starts on her salad, uncertain about when or where to bring up the apology she needs to say to Martha. Not sure it wouldn't be better to just let it go.

"Oh, I was just explaining that I was at Lou's place this morning when Kate called." Martha turns and gives Kate a saucy look. "I didn't startle you, dear, did I?"

Kate smiles back. "Just a little."

"I know my ways seems wild to you. But we all had a little too much fun, if you know what I mean, and we decided to stay at Lou's place and do the walk of shame together! How fun and hilarious is that? All of us in yesterday's ragged clothes."

"Who's we?" she can't help but ask.

She sees Castle give her a frown, feels his knee nudge hers. She must've had a tone.

Martha sips her drink and grins ever wider. "Oh, Lou is one of the teachers at my school. And there was Jonathan, the dear boy, and Matthew, and then oh, I think Everett was there as well. For most of it. I can't remember if he stayed. When you called, the place had cleaned out to just me and Lou. I did the walk of shame alone! The ungrateful little. . ."

"Is Lou your new. . .?" Kate leaves it hanging, lifting an eyebrow. She hates that she's doing this, hates that it's her doing it, but she can't keep her damn mouth shut. She feels Castle press his fingertips in her thigh under the table. A less subtle warning.

"Oh no, dear one. Lou is a friend. A good friend. He and Mitchell and Margarite are my teachers at the school. But Lou and I were demonstrating casting marks, you know on the floor?, and how important it is to know your color and what the different lines mean. . .and oh. I guess the class got a little out of hand!" Martha is grinning and winking at the same time, that helpless-woman face that Kate just. . .abhors.

But this is how Martha copes. How many times does Castle need to tell her? This is how Martha Rodgers survived being a single mother in a profession like this in a time when no one got divorced, let alone had a child out of wedlock and refused to name the man. Martha was a trailblazer for her time, and Kate needs to remember this, needs to respect that her ways were different but courageous, nonetheless.

It didn't use to bother her. But that was when Castle wasn't hers, and she hadn't done those things to Kate's husband, but to this writer who seemed to be fine, if a little playboy-like.

Now? Now Kate has a son too. Now Castle *is* hers. And this woman spent her son's childhood passing him off to strangers and strippers, bringing home questionable men every weekend, and forcing her son to be a spectator to her life's debauches.

It makes Kate furious. Absolutely furious. And she doesn't even know a great majority of the ways Martha Rodgers hurt him, because he won't tell her. And maybe that pisses her off even more.

She opens her mouth, but there's Castle, jumping in. Saving her from herself.

"How's the school going? How many students have you enrolled for next year?"

Castle hands over a few pieces of chicken. Kate dumps them in Dash's tupperware container and adds a little honey mustard, which he loves. It will be smeared all over him, but she hopes to keep him occupied for awhile. She needs a little peace to get herself back under control if she's going to make it through the rest of this lunch.

Castle's question is perfect; Martha loves talking about herself, of course. It's no big thing to let her have the spotlight and run with it; it's easier this way for all of them. She chatters on about the school and her students and how nice it is to have all these adoring, eager fans in class.

Kate takes Rick's hand under the table and squeezes, grateful for his interruption, grateful he knows her so well. Because this is Martha, this is his mother, and Kate has no business starting a war.


	85. Chapter 85

He's not thrilled with Kate right now. But she's looking at him with apologies in her eyes, so he lets it go, squeezes her hand back.

He's heard it said before that the thing that attracts you is often later the thing that irritates you the most. And that's been true for him every time so far. Every marriage that is. Meredith's fun times turned into cavalier and irresponsible behavior; Gina's disciplined 'mother figure for Alexis' turned into harping shrew.

Kate's exciting confidence and sexy independence often turns into bossiness and stupid stubbornness. He hates especially when she runs roughshod over him. Like with the preschool today. He's pretty sure that, given time, he'll come around to the idea, but she kinda pulled this out of thin air and bashed him over the head with it.

And then this lunch with his mother. Which he still doesn't understand, but he won't look a gift horse in the mouth. If Kate wants to mend fences that don't need mending, that's fine. He's told her that his mother is pretty much incapable of thinking she's been done wrong. At least by family. It's not that she's blind to it, it's that she's developed a way to laugh it off, make it into nothing. She's also been easy-going; she's willing to let sleeping dogs lie.

Apparently, Kate is not.

Castle's not sure what Kate's deal is with his mother. Other than the drinking thing, which is an understandable pet peeve of hers. Well, pet peeve is something of an understatement. But his mother comes from an age when alcohol was just the way actors and actresses greased the wheels, made connections, lined up better-paying jobs. Sheesh, if Kate thinks the drinking is a problem, she should've been around when Castle had to convince her to stop smoking. Which his mother did, because he asked, because he told her it was bad for Alexis.

His mother always has come through for him. Kate should know that by now.

The alcohol is just. . .his mother's way of life. It helps her cope or it lifts her spirits, or whatever. When she's sober, yes, she's a more connected person, but she's also a lot more maudlin. A drink to take the edge off is fine with him; Castle knows that his arrival wasn't the best timing, wasn't good for her career, but he also knows that she's proud of him, proud to be his mother, that she worked hard to make a life for them at the only job she knew. She handled things the way she had to, the only way she could. And he's not going to be the one to complain and tell her she needs to stop.

It's not Kate's place to do it either.

Besides, Castle really doesn't think it's a problem. She's never unable to function. She's not losing her savings (well, that wasn't her fault; she got conned), she's not driving into a line of school kids because she mixed up the gas and brake pedals (she also doesn't have a car either). His mother is more than capable. Kate needs to let it go.

He really wishes she had talked to him about the preschool. Before signing a check and enrolling their son in three days a week. Starting next Tuesday. Damn. He really wishes she had just talked to him-

But it's done. He's going to have to give up his son in only a week. Hand him over, let someone else raise him. Someone else to pick him up when he falls, someone else to see what new word he says next, someone else to take his hand and-

Kate brushes his waist with her fingertips, shoots him a questioning look. He realizes he's fallen silent, and introspective, and quirks his lips at her. Not a grin, but the best he can do.

"We enrolled Dash in preschool today, Mother," he offers.

His mother looks up at him in surprise. "But darling, you were so adamantly against it!"

Kate sighs, nudges his thigh.

"I still am," he says morosely, ignoring his wife.

"Well, why is he going then? He's not even two!"

He gives Kate a look, but she's not having it. "Martha, I think preschool is a good idea for Dash. He needs kids his own age around, needs to get out of the house some-"

"Well, sure, but don't you think Richard is doing a marvelous job taking him to museums and play groups and parks? All of that can be-"

"Oh no, of course. Rick does a wonderful job. It's not that; this is really for Rick. For both of us. Dash needs these things, and Rick and I both need to be able to work."

His mother gives Kate a look that Castle *knows* she's interpreting wrong, knows she is, because her whole body stiffens. His mother does *not* mean that the way Kate thinks she means it. As if that eyebrow means, "You *both* need to work?" Oh man. How can he nip this in the bud?

Also, she said this was *for* him? Not by half.

"Thanks, Mother, for the defense, but I know Kate is right about this. I haven't gotten any work done. And it's not fair to make her take a week off every few months just so I can catch up."

He squeezes Kate's hand again but her bristle hasn't gone done yet.

"Well, that's all and good, but why preschool? Why can't you let him stay with me for a few hours?"

Oh, no, he definitely doesn't want to get into this now.

"That's not fair on you, Mother. You shouldn't have to do that."

Kate leans in. "You helped Rick so much with Alexis, Martha, and I just don't want you to have to do that with your school going so strong. Besides, we have the money, and preschool can only be good for Dash."

Castle at least appreciates the attempt. Even if her voice sounds false when she says it. His mother gives him a look that says she hears it too, of course she does, but he can't even defend Kate.

They spend the rest of their lunch in polite conversation, him trying to convince Martha that he's not that upset with the idea of preschool, and Kate trying to make up for something from last Christmas that his mother doesn't even remember. Kate sounds a little pushy, actually, and he's more and more frustrated with her as the lunch goes on.

When lunch is over, Dash is rubbing at his eyes and drooping at the table. Castle kisses his mother's cheek and scoops up his son from the chair, cuddling him close. His mother gives Dash an air kiss and pats his back.

"I'm always available, darling, no matter the acting school," she says, for his ears only, her eyes cutting swiftly to Kate. As if to say, "No matter Kate," either. He nods at her, then follows Kate back to their car.

* * *

><p>Castle puts Dashiell down for a nap himself, as quickly as he can, then heads downstairs to confront Kate. This has got to stop. All of it.<p>

She's not in the living room or kitchen. Or his study.

"Kate-" he bellows through the bedroom.

She comes back out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, gives him a look that says it all, then runs back to spit.

He waits. Patiently. Sort of patiently.

When she comes back out, wiping her mouth, she looks apologetic again. "Yeah. I know."

He raises his eyebrows at her, puts his hands on his hips.

"I shouldn't have signed him up so quickly."

Castle crosses his arms.

"We should've talked about it."

"Damn right we should've talked about it!"

"Don't curse at me, Castle." She crosses her arms as well. Not a good sign.

Castle dials down the frustration, tries to get back to the high moral ground. "You said we'd just go and look at it. You were deadset against this place this morning, Kate. You were all concerned about your dad and this woman and then you're throwing our son to the wolves?"

"This isn't the wolves! It's preschool-"

"And then, you're practically jumping down my mother's throat. You think she doesn't see it, that she's always too drunk to notice, but she noticed, Kate. She's an actress; she's good at pretending."

Kate's mouth drops open.

But he's really angry now, really angry, and he's not going to let her get a chance to twist things around. "You think the drunk thing isn't an act? She's had to laugh it off for most of her life. You think she can't tell when you're-"

Kate backs away, turning her back to him to shut the bedroom door.

He yells at her back. "What is the deal with you lately? Last Christmas. . .you said what you wanted to say, we all forgave you for it. The holidays are rough for you and your dad, I understand. But why are you bringing it all back up, Kate? What is your deal?"

She shakes her head and turns back around and, damn it, she's crying. What the hell? Castle should feel like crap, of course, and he does a little, but mostly he's just grateful that something he's said has gotten through to her, and he grabs her shoulders and pulls her against him with a sigh.

"What is this, Kate?" She's not a crier. He's seen her cry like twice. Okay, more than that, but they were all really good reasons, and this isn't a good one. "Kate. Come on."

She's not sobbing, of course. She's just wiping her eyes with her thumbs and shaking her head against him, like she's denying it.

"I need to be better about this," she says softly.

"What is this? Be better about what?"

She gestures between them, then out there, then around the room. He has no idea what that means. Kate's not usually so. . .girly.

"Kate. Seriously. You're ruining a good fight here. With tears. Isn't that my line?"

She chokes on a laugh, pushes back against his chest. She's still watery-eyed, but she's not so bad looking. She wipes at her cheek and sighs. "I mean. I have issues, Castle. You know that. How is it that you've managed to work through all your issues and it's just. . .smooth sailing, but I'm floundering here?"

He sighs (he's not in the mood to laugh, because it's really not funny) and rubs a hand up and down her back. "Seriously? That's crazy. I have issues. I have so many issues. Yours are cute."

"This isn't cute."

"Well, no, it wasn't cute with my mother. But I mean-"

"And I'm sorry about preschool. I jumped the gun. I know. I was just. . .relieved it was all working out so perfectly, and I knew you weren't on board, but I just assumed, eventually, that you would see the light, but I couldn't wait around. I have to be at work tomorrow, Castle, and I needed it solved, needed the problem solved-"

"Dash is a problem?"

"No!" She backs up, looking at him like he's betrayed her. Betrayed her? Really?

She paces, comes back to face him. "Dash is not the problem. The problem is this. This. . .this balance. This workload. It's not working for either of us. It makes me feel constantly guilty and makes you feel guilty because you can't handle it-"

"I can handle it," he says vehemently. "This is ridiculous. Kate-"

"You can't handle it, Castle." She stalks away from him, stops herself, comes circling back. "You drive me nuts, you know that?"

He laughs, can't help himself, has to sit down and laugh so hard his stomach aches with it. It's not funny though. It's just sad. And his laughter is more desperate than mirthful, and he knows that, but he feels like if he doesn't release some of his absolute fury at her, he's going to do something he will infinitely regret.

"It's not funny. I'm trying to fight with you here. Get up."

"Ah, no," he wheezes, looking up at her. Castle grabs her wrist and yanks her down on the bed beside him. "You're gonna have to come down here."

"Castle," she starts.

He rubs at his eyes. "I know, Kate. I know that this balance hasn't been working. You hardly get to spend any time with Dash or me, and then I'm constantly trying to hide from you how hard it is. But that doesn't mean I don't want to be doing it. It's worth it. Dash is worth it. You're worth it."

"Just because you want to, doesn't mean you should."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Rick," she says softly, laying her head against his shoulder, sitting next to him on the bed. "This won't be good for you or Dash, in the long run. I know you think you should do everything. But you can't. And it will catch up to you. And yeah, that's usually your line."

He sighs, laces his fingers with hers. She lifts her head; he can feel her looking at him. "I don't like how you did it."

"I know. That was wrong. I'm going to try to be better."

"Whatever."

"Castle," she admonishes him. "I know it wasn't the right way to do it. But I don't have two previous marriages under my belt here."

He stiffens. "What's that supposed to mean?" He turns to look at her, but her cheeks are flaming red; she holds a hand up, shakes her head, her palm presses against his chest, then her fingers tighten in his shirt like she thinks he's going to run.

"No, no. Oh crap, that didn't come out like I meant it."

"How exactly did you mean that?"

"I meant, only, that you're the one with all the experience. You're the one who's already made all these mistakes and knows how not to do it. Oh my word, that really sounded bad." She furrows her brows, but her face cracks into a grin and she laughs. "Oh, Castle. You know that came out totally wrong."

"Jeez, Kate. Not that I'm not crazy about you, but you can't say something like that to me. Not you. I mean, for so long, that's what kept you from trusting me, from trusting this, and then to just toss it out like that-"

"I'm sorry," she breathes and kisses his cheek. "I'm sorry. I meant that in a good way. And isn't that something? That the thing that used to make me not trust you is the thing I love about you?"

His chest clenches a little. And he has to ask. "The only thing?"

"Of course not," she whispers, presses another kiss to his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"I do love it when you say that," he says grudgingly.

"I'm sorry? I rarely say that," she laughs.

"That's why I love it. Rare as diamonds."

"You know diamonds aren't really rare. The market is just really well-controlled-" She gasps when his hands ruthlessly grab for her sides; she jerks away from him with a scowl.

"Don't ruin it, Beckett," he says, glaring at her. "Besides, there's still stuff here we need to talk about."

She sighs as she sits back down next to him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. First of all. I don't think Dash needs to be at preschool three days a week. Two days of preschool is plenty of time for me, Kate. And for him-"

"Well, but-"

"Hush," he scolds, nudging her with his shoulder. He knows she's glaring at him now, but he needs to say a few things. "But since it's only for the rest of this semester, I'm willing to live with it for awhile, see how it goes. After that, we've got some help with Alexis in the summer, and besides, I'll have a different schedule with the book, so it'll all be different. No preschool in the summer, no parent's day out, Kate. I'm serious."

She still half-smiling at him, like she's amused by his little temper tantrum. It makes him a little more angry.

"When school starts up again, Kate, I don't want him going 5 days a week. I know you said we'd talk about it, but that's not. . .not negotiable for me. You say you want another kid, but you want me to ship them off? You think we can't handle Dash already, and you want to add another one? I can't-"

"Whoa, hey now," she says, putting her hand on his forearm. He doesn't like talking to her like this, sitting side by side so he can't see her face, and she seems to be able to. . .laugh it off, like it's not real. He doesn't like this at all. "That's a little much, Castle."

"Fine. You don't like the truth? Then let me say it a different way. Five days a week at preschool isn't how I want to raise my son, Kate. It's not how I want to raise a daughter either, not when I have a job that let's me be at home. That's what it's for. That's what the money is for. If it comes down to it, Kate, I will quite. I will not write another word-"

She interrupts him with a hand. "Okay. Okay," she says soothingly, her hand on his thigh, petting him.

"Don't *gentle* me, Kate. This isn't the horse-whisperer here. This is serious." He flings himself off the bed so he can look at her. She's stiff on the bed; she looks trapped. But he wants her to be ticked, to be involved. "I'm trying to have a fight with you, and you're giggling and. . .and you don't giggle! What is the deal with you? Get mad, Kate. Get pissed, and push me, and tell me something I don't know."

She still isn't mad. She's blinking slowly and looking at him like he's an alien. And she doesn't believe in aliens. She takes a long breath. "And the second thing you wanted to say?" she says softly, looking at him, her face a calm mask.

Really? Careful and calm?

"Second thing? Second thing is this: Don't you dare, ever, talk to my mother like that again."

And he walks out the room.


	86. Chapter 86

Kate jumps up after him, something like fear twisting in her gut. Because she's never seen Castle this furious with her. And at the same time, so resigned. Their argument of. . .what is it? Only three days ago? That argument is nothing compared to this. Not because of the intensity, but because of the lack of it.

She catches him in his study, slumped in a chair, staring out of the window like. . .like it's over. Like it's over.

Her heart pounds and she stands in front of him, hates the discrepancy of it, too much like an interrogation where she angles herself for the best way to break them. She gets to her knees in front of him, her hands on his thighs, her body between his legs. If he will just look at her. . .

"Castle."

He rubs a hand over his eyes, down his face, but won't look at her.

That might not have been the best way to start this. She tries again.

"Rick?"

He looks right at her now. Startled maybe, by the name. By his first name which she never uses. Why does she do that?

"Your mother?"

His startle turns quickly to a twist of things she can't all name. Anger of course. Some fear, probably over her reaction. Defensiveness. Other things that are too complicated for her. She should know him better by now, shouldn't she?

"I will call her, Rick. I'll make it right. Just. . .just stop looking at me like that."

He rubs his face again, sighs, then drops his hand on top of one of hers, heavy. He doesn't try to take her hand and she doesn't know what that means. Is this how all of his previous marriages broke up? Did Castle just quit on them?

Well, she's not quitting. It's not in her to quit. And she loves him. How come he chooses not to see that so much of the time?

"Talk to me. Yell at me. Something."

He shrugs, chews on his bottom lip. His other hand drops onto hers as well, so that he's almost holding her in place, which is funny because he doesn't look like he cares if she stays or leaves.

"Castle, the reason I'm not mad at you is because I know it's my fault," she starts, figuring that someone has to. "How can I be mad when I've got no leg to stand on? I mean, I made a decision about our son without really talking to you about it, and then I ambushed you with lunch with your mother, and then I. . .I acted fairly childish about that too. And I'm sorry. I really am. What else can I say here?"

"She's my mother, Kate," he says softly, and the pain in his voice slices right through her.

Kate works at the inside of her mouth with her teeth, tries to keep from crying *again* in this conversation. This fight. Whatever it is.

"I know."

"She's my mother," he says again, shaking his head, and then closes his eyes. Against her.

"Rick." She leans forward, tries to touch him, his face, but his hands are suddenly trapping hers on his thighs, keeping her from using that touch against him. "Please."

"Give me a second, okay?"

"O-okay." She drops back to sit on her feet, fighting panic. He's not asking for space, or time apart; he's asking for a second. Just a second. She can do that. A second is okay. It's not _It's over_.

Oh God, what would she do without him?

She studies him intently, watches him take a few deep breaths, sees the struggle play out on his face. And then his eyes open.

"You keep. . .hinting that something happened. Between my mother and me. That somehow it wasn't right. But you're wrong, Kate. My mother was a good one. She loved me. She did the best she could by me. And I'm grown-up enough to know it. We had fun, yeah, and probably she left me alone more than I should've been, but she taught me a lot about how tell a story. And she taught me how to love. And how you protect your family and keep them. How you keep them, Kate. She never once abandoned me. She never once made promises she couldn't keep. She never once had me picking her up out of the alley outside the bar and calling her a cab home. Maybe that was *your* parent, Kate."

She blinks, jerks a hand out from under his to swipe at the fresh round of tears. She gets up off the floor; she can't believe she sat down for that-

Kate stops, takes a breath, realizes she's made it halfway across the room without noticing she's been running away again. She turns around, sees that Castle's face isn't even surprised at her running. And that hurts too, hurts worse.

She comes back, leans against his desk, tries to think instead of react.

He's right, of course. He's right. And this stuff with her dad about this woman, it's stirred up everything again. All the things she thought she'd dealt with long ago.

"Okay," she says, and lifts her eyes to meet his, able to now.

He's not convinced.

"I. . .get it." She grinds her teeth together, forces out what she has to say. "You're. . .probably right."

Castle is silent in his chair; he glances out the window, then back to her. He looks like he's relieved to say what he said, but he still doesn't think she gets it, still doesn't see a change.

"I think. . .no. . .I *know* that I'm overreacting." She takes a breath, licks her dry bottom lip. "With your mother. I am. . .trying. I don't do relationships easily; I don't think anyone ever taught me how. . .how to keep them. Like you were taught. I. . .was abandoned, twice over, yes. That's true. And I'm still. . .not okay with it." She blows out a shaky breath, struggling still.

Castle sits forward, his elbows on his knees, peering up at her.

"It's easier to look at your mother and be angry at her for not. . .not being what you needed her to be, Castle, easier to be angry at her than is to blame my dead mother. Or my now-recovering-alcoholic father. Neither of whom can I really be mad at. My mother is gone. My alcoholic father is gone." She tries a smile and finds it falls flat. Her face feels stiff. She looks away from him. "I have a son. Your mother has a son. I can't. . .I'm projecting, maybe? I don't know. This is hard for me. I'm not enough for Dashiell, I'm dumping it all in your lap, when he's so important to me, he's *so* important and I-"

She chokes on it, but feels the sudden crush of his arms around her, his body holding her up, and she leans into him, her cheek against his collarbone, her arms coming up around him. But there's more. There's more to be said that has to be said, and while she's so grateful that even in the midst of this he's still being her best friend, she has to keep going.

"You're important. You're mine, and I get so. . ." Kate shakes her head, pulling back from him because it's harder to talk with her face buried against his chest and his arms so warm, like everything is fine. She needs to stay uncomfortable, stay scared, or else she won't keep talking like this. With the truth. "Maybe I'm mad at me. For not treating you better. It's not her, is it? It's me. I'm the bitch."

"Hey," he says, catches her hands and kisses her palms. And, God, that hurts. She doesn't deserve that. "Don't call my wife a bitch."

She gives him a faint smile because he's trying, but it's not even helpful anymore. She has things to say, things he needs to hear that maybe he doesn't get. "This week with you, at home, has opened my eyes, Castle."

"Yeah?" He's standing between her legs now, running his hands up and down her arms.

"I've been. . .lying to myself."

He stops rubbing. "Oh?"

She clasps her hands together to keep them from twitching nervously. "I've told myself that it's okay if you do all the work in this relationship because you have more to prove."

His face blanches.

"That's a lie, Castle."

He removes one hand to rub it over his face, scratches at his head with a move that looks like he's pulling out his hair.

"I've told myself that it's okay that I'm always at work because Dash has you, and you're such an amazing Dad, and that makes up for me not being here."

Castle scrapes his hand down his face again, stops at his chin, looks at her.

"That's a lie. Well, except the part about you being an amazing dad. That's true."

He gives a half-lift of his lips, an acknowledgement but not a smile.

"I've told myself that it's okay if you do all the parenting, because you're so good at it, and because Dash doesn't need me. But how does that make me any better than Meredith?"

Castle lifts an eyebrow at her; Kate claps both hands over her mouth and shakes her head. She drops her hands, horrified.

"Oh crap. That's not what I meant. Well, it is, but I shouldn't have said that. I should never say that. Ignore it. Erase it. Let me start over-"

"Kate."

She cringes and scrubs at her mouth with one hand, as if she can take that stupid comment away. "I am just. . .stupid today. I'm stupid. Pride goes before fall. And damn, I keep falling."

"Pride?"

"Ah, just this whole. . .I felt pretty good this morning. After last night and then calling my dad and dealing with it. And calling your mom for lunch. And calling the preschool, and then setting everything up so that. . .it felt like I was helping. It felt like I was really figuring things out, that I was doing the right thing for Dash when you couldn't. Oh." She casts a worried glance to him, realizing what she's said. He doesn't seem to take offense at that either, but wow, she is just sticking her foot in her mouth all over again. "I meant. I mean. I felt like I had things under control. Like I had a handle on them today. We get Dash in preschool, you get some time to write like you should, I don't have to feel so guilty all the time."

"So I get to feel guilty instead?"

Kate's jaw drops; she looks swiftly at him, surprised because she didn't even see that. "You feel guilty for what?"

"For not taking care of him! What do you think this whole thing has been about?"

"But. . .it's just three days a week. From 9 until 2, Castle. It's not even a full day!"

"It's three days away. It's three days I couldn't hack it. Three days I'm not living up to my promise to you that I'd handle this, I'd have it under control, I'd keep it from ever making you regret having him."

_Oh._

Oh, wow.

_That._

She wants to hit him, but that would be counter-productive right now. She settles instead for crying, because mostly, she can't help it. Crying seems to hurt him more anyway. When she cries, he looks like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

And damn, that _hurt_.

The truth hurts.

"I'd never regret him," she says forcefully, the tears in silent streaks down her face. "I don't regret him. Stop saying that."

"But-"

"So I didn't plan it! So it wasn't the perfect, fairy tale romance, Castle! So he was a complete surprise, and it took me awhile to get it. Are you going to hold that against me for the rest of our lives?"

She glares at him through the tears; he reaches down and cradles her cheeks in both hands, wiping tears with his thumbs, looking just as wretched as she feels.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry. It's just. . .not easy to let go of. I know you had to get used to it-"

"I didn't *say* that. I didn't say I had to get used to it. Like he's some kind of pain in my ass. I said, it took me awhile to *get* it. To stop being dense. To stop being an idiot. Like you are clearly being-"

He stops her tirade with a bruising kiss, but she's not having this. They always run hot, always mistake anger for passion in the middle of some of their best, most-clarifying, most-healing arguments, and she's having it out with him, right now.

She shoves on his chest; he pops off of her mouth with a surprised glance.

"No. You tell me what i just said. I need to know you *heard* that, Castle."

"I. . .You said it took you time to get it."

"And?"

"And. . .now you get it?"

"And what does that mean? What do I get?"

"Um." He glances away, then back at her. "You get that he's. . .worth it."

"Everything. He's worth everything. And so are you. And why can't you believe that?"

"I do. I believe it." He raises his hands and tries to recapture her mouth, but she tosses him off again, ducks to avoid him.

"Then say it."

"I believe it." He gives her a half grin.

"No. Say what you know. Say what I mean when I say that you, Richard Castle, are worth everything. Every bit of this."

He looks lost.

She she enlightens him.

"I love you. I love you more than the NYPD. I love you more than my dead mother's case. I love you more than accidents, or birth control pills that don't work, or unplanned pregnancies. I love you more than your money. I love you in spite of your money." At his sudden grin, Kate slides her arms around his neck, presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I love you more than old boyfriends, old jealousies, old rivalries. I love you more than my job. More than your job. More than your books. And that's saying something."

He chuckles at that, wraps his arms around her waist, but doesn't try to stop her.

Kate kisses the other corner of his mouth, keeps going. "I love you more than books. More than bookstores. More than chocolate, more than wine and bubble baths. I love you more than my issues. More than my pride."

He kisses her back, finally, softly, his mouth gentle and reverent and forgiving. She accepts it this time, brushes a hand along his cheek to feel his stubble, the working of his jaw as he soothes her.

When she breaks free, she strokes the hair out of his forehead, runs her fingers down to his neck. "I love you. I'd don't want to be without you. Do you believe me now?"

"I think I'm starting to."

She rubs at the smudged parts of his lips with her thumb. "Please don't forget it, Rick. I need you to know that I'm not leaving. And I don't stay here because I'm trapped. Not because I'm stuck. But because I love you. Because you are, without a doubt, the best thing that has ever happened to me. And I'm no good at the words, so this will have to do."

He nods, and in his silence, she can hear volumes. All the things he doesn't say are louder than all the things he might have said. Silence from him is a gift almost equal to his amazing words.

She kisses his eyelid, the corner of his eye. "Do you love me enough to bear with me? Because now you know how messed up I truly am."

"I do," he whispers, his voice raw and hoarse. "I do. I love you more than enough."

"For better or for worse," she says back, her lips at his ear because she can't look at him, can't see in his eyes what she hears in his voice. "Solemnly swear."

"Solemnly swear."

Only now can she breathe again.


	87. Chapter 87

It's awkward at first, but Martha lets her into the apartment with a smile and a kiss on both cheeks, her hands strong against Kate's shoulders. The place looks different, of course, but there are still pieces left of her old place: the chair in the corner that she used to have upstairs by the bookcase, a framed print now propped against the kitchen brick, the antique dishes hanging on the wall over the kitchen table, which was hers as well. But everything else is new, and brightly colored, and it amazes Kate how the place feels like Martha now.

How Kate doesn't even feel a longing for it anymore.

"Thank you for letting me come," she says softly, scrubs at her face with a hand. "I just have a box-"

"Are you all right, dear one?" Martha keeps her hands on Kate's shoulders, squeezes her with a sympathetic hum. "You're giving yourself wrinkles, frowning like that."

Kate laughs, a little hollowly, and nods. "I just. . .I feel badly about how I handled lunch. And last Christmas. And then Rick and I got into a fight-"

"Should I call him and give him a talking-to?" Martha says, embracing her again, the arms like wire around Kate's shoulders, so taut and strong, the smell of perfume overwhelming.

It's always been too much with Martha, too much touching and over-the-top and flair. Kate realizes now that maybe this is part of it, the whole thing, that Martha just won't stop invading her space. But it feels nice this afternoon, the woman's concern layering over her, like being tucked in as a kid with the nightlight on.

"No. It was my fault. And we made up-" Kate blushes at the look in Martha's eyes, the lift of her suggestive brows. "-Ah, mostly made up. But I still need to get that stuff. And he needs to see it. And I just. . ."

Kate swallows and looks up into Martha's eyes, and for a second, the show stops, the stage lights go down, and it's just Rick's mother there, not the actress. She's a woman who did what she could, all that she could, to give him a better life, a life that wasn't nomadic and penniless, what with the boarding schools and the exposure to culture and the constant search for a man to be a good role model for Rick. Strange how Kate sees it in a different light now.

Kate bites her lip, crashes forward into Martha for a real hug, her arms probably too tight around Martha's ribs, but the older woman slips her hands from Kate's shoulders and hugs back. She doesn't seem surprised.

"I'm sorry," Kate says, presses her nose into Martha's shoulder for just an instant, just a quick scent of the powder and perfume and fruity alcohol, but it's all right. It's okay now. It's Martha and how she envelops a space, owns it, makes everyone inside it feel happier for it. "I've missed my mom and I took it out on you."

"I know, dear, dear, Katherine," she whispers back. "I know."

"It's not right. I shouldn't. I meant to be better-"

"It's okay, darling. It's fine now."

Oh, God, if she can ever be as gracious as Martha. . .

Kate stands there in Martha's embrace for a long moment, trying to keep it together, and then steps back, swiping at her face. Her make-up was mostly cried off earlier, but she still checks for mascara streaks. Her fingers keep coming away black. She's too worn out with this yo-yo of a day to care.

Martha sweeps her into the living room and gestures towards the little closet under the staircase, taking a seat on the couch. "Did you want to get your things, Kate?"

"Yes. Well, yes." She hesitates though.

"I left it in the closet there."

Kate nods, glances over at the closet door, then sits down beside Martha. "Maybe, though, we could. . .talk?"

Martha smiles at her, that diva smile, a kind of mask, a facade to keep others from seeing her true feelings, but Kate sees real warmth behind it this time. "Of course, dear. About what?"

No point it tiptoeing around it, around what she wants. Kate has been missing her mother, and Martha told her at Christmas, basically begged her to treat her like her own mom. So she will. "When you. . .found out you were pregnant, what did you. . .what did you think?"

The silence is dreadful, and it takes Kate a long moment to look at Martha, but when she does, the woman is quivering with unshed tears. Stunned, Kate tries to keep breathing, tries not to let herself cry *again*, and watches Rick's mother get control of herself again, the woman humming at her and gesturing as if to say it's par for the course.

Martha pats her leg, squeezes her knee. "I'll say this. I know what it is, dear one, to have a great inconvenience, to have the great tragedy of your life, become the thing you love so breathlessly, so without bounds, so unmistakably."

"Yes," Kate whispers, sitting up.

"Yes."

* * *

><p>Castle is antsy with her gone. He wanted to. . .hold her for awhile and just. . .nothing. Do nothing. Be nothing but together for a change, except she wanted to apologize to his mother and go get the last of her stuff, she said. He feels like this. . .pushiness is what landed them in trouble before, but she's not going to be able to settle down if she thinks this thing with his mother isn't over yet.<p>

He tries to understand. He really does. But he thinks they need this time instead, together, without Dash awake yet, to just breathe each other in for a time, rest in each other. And it's dopey and silly, of course it is, but he saw the look on her face when she left. She could've done with some rest.

Castle messes around on his computer, going over the edits to the manuscript, half-heartedly completing the outline for the next chapter, checking his email. He's got all of the summer months to do the last minute stuff, and he really is back on schedule, ahead of schedule even.

When she gets back, she's carrying a box; he comes in from his study to greet her. Dashiell is still down for the count, and Castle jumps in take the box from her, shut the door behind her quietly. She lets him, which is amazing, and flicks her hand to the coffee table. He sets the box down on top and stands back, waiting on her.

"It's um. . .some things, one thing really. From my old apartment," she starts, dumping her keys and wallet into the bowl on the entry table. "It's been in a closet there. I haven't. . .opened it since I got pregnant."

"Since you got pregnant?" he asks, looking at her in surprise. She didn't move in with him until much later, but she was already packing things up then?

She nods absent-mindedly and circles the coffee table, like a prize fighter sizing up an opponent. "And after Dash was born. . .I couldn't seem to get back to it. It was always there, at the back of my mind, but I couldn't make it. . .be as important any more."

Kate looks up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since she walked back in their apartment. She breaks out from under her could of seriousness long enough to give him a fleeting smile, then reaches up on her toes to greet him with a soft, warm kiss. Her hands like butterflies against his throat. He swallows and blinks at her.

"Hi."

He grins at the shyness in her face. "Hi back."

"I think you should open it. I don't. . .want to touch it."

"Spiders?" he shivers, cupping his fingers around her elbows. "Ew, not roaches, surely?"

She gives a soft laugh, and he can see the appreciation in her eyes. "Hmm, I hope not. If so, we'll have to tell your mother she might have a small problem."

"Even better, bedbugs. Took her bedbugs to Lou's place last night, and then Jonathan or was it Hector? he took them home-"

"Oh no," she breathes, shaking her head at him with a smothered laugh. "Don't make it worse."

"Rats?"

"Just open it," she says, nudging him with a knee.

Castle smiles back at her as he heads for the table, wriggling his eyebrows. "Why does it feel like I'm going to meet my maker?"

She rolls her eyes at him, sinks down onto the sofa in front of the coffee table, but he notices that she watches the box, and not him.

Castle sits down beside her, his thigh against hers, remembers for just a moment what it felt like when all of them were piled on this couch during the thunderstorm, Dash hiding his face in his mother's legs, Alexis curled up next to him, his family. And before that, Alexis and Kate cuddling Dashiell after one of his nightmares, both of them intense with worry and compassion, the boy drifting back to sleep. And then before that, Dashiell's face playing peek-a-boo over the top of the couch, Kate and Alexis talking earnestly close together, Kate claiming Alexis as her own.

Before he even gets to the box, Castle has to tell her. He turns around and opens his mouth, but the look on Kate's face tells him this isn't the time for it, not the right moment. She'll want to know this, needs to know this, but not right now. He can save it for later, good news for later.

So he turns back to the box and yanks on the flaps.

Kate leans her body against his side, her chin on his shoulder, watching. He picks up a kind of folded poster board, the corners yellowing. Some of the pieces that were once attached have fallen off now, because there are darker patches visible where it faded. Photographs, hand-written note cards, reports.

It's the timeline from her mother's murder. The timeline she hung on the shutters in her apartment.

"Kate," he whispers, but can't help pulling more stuff out of the box. The photos they went through together, the smiling Kate with her ice skates; the strip of film negatives; the blown-up photo of the missing photo. There's the alley where her mother was found, the alley she had visited earlier and taken pictures of. There's the information about the abducted mafia members. The missing third man.

All the question marks once held in place by scotch tape and Kate's fierce and unrepentant need to know, all the question marks lie in a jumble in the bottom of the box.

"I packed it up the day I found out I was pregnant."

He handles the remnants with care, blinking through a sudden haze that leaves these things blurry.

"I never looked back."

He clears his throat, but still can't find words to say. . .anything. Anything that would be right for this moment.

"But it was always there. Waiting for me in that apartment. . .just in case."

Just in case.

"It's time to throw it away, Rick."

His hand clenches around the photo of the smiling, Christmas-skates Kate. He slips the photo into the front pocket of plaid shirt, swallows dryly. "I don't. . .know that you should do that."

"I do," she says simply, and reaches over him, her body still draped along his back, to brush the rest of it back into the box, out of his hands, through his fingers, dropping lifelessly into the brown box. She closes the flaps, crunching the poster with the timeline, and sits back on the couch.

"Kate. It's too much to ask-"

"You didn't ask," she says. "You never would. Maybe you should have, but I wouldn't have been very. . .receptive to it. But it's done now."

"It's not done. There's still so much-"

"I told you, that first time we looked at re-opening it, that I had gotten lost, once before, in my mom's case. When I first made detective. And you told me that this time we'd do it together."

Together. And here's where they are now. "I'm sorry-" he tries again, but she sits up to face him, shaking her head.

"No, don't. You kept me from. . .falling into that rabbit hole again. I went chasing it, but you. . .held me from the edge. And then, well, you got me pregnant, didn't you?" She huffs a laugh, her smile like a shy child, and he reaches over to cradle the side of her face, turns his head slightly so he can kiss whatever skin he finds.

She smiles stronger under his mouth, talks into the safety of his cheek, not looking at him. "When I realized I was pregnant, that this was a child. A kid who needed me. Like I needed my mom. I couldn't. . .it didn't seem right anymore. So I packed it up. And that saved me too, Castle. You gave me that too."

He curls his fingers in the hair over her ear, brushes his lips across hers again because he doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to say it.

"No more," she says softly, moving in close so she can wrap her arms around him, one at his neck, the other along his back, their foreheads bumping. "My life now is worth more than my mom's death."

"I believe you," he says finally, remembering what it is he's been wanting to tell her. "I believe you."

He feels her eyelashes against his cheek, tremulous and delicate, the thin lines of her arms around him, the warmth of her chest at his shoulders. Rick leans back against the couch, cradling her, a term he never once thought to use so freely with Kate. But he cradles her and she holds him, and they breathe together on the couch, eyes closed.

"Rick."

"Mm?"

She shifts to look at him, her ribs digging into his, her elbows propping her up against his pectorals, stroking his face with the tips of her fingers. "When I go back to work tomorrow-"

"Yeah," he sighs.

"It will be different. There's less. . .need in me. Without that." She glances over her shoulder to the box still sitting on the coffee table. "I'm going to get home on time. I'm going to call you for a long lunch. I'm going to cut out early and swing by preschool and pick up our son. Or I might just text you when I'm out, and have you meet me for some sexy, fun times."

"Promises, promises," he laughs, quirking his eyebrows, his heart pounding at the maddening way her fingers make designs on his chin, his cheeks.

"They are promises," she insists, pressing her palms against his chest. "You'll have to help me keep them."

"Oh, Detective, I am more than willing."


	88. Chapter 88

Kate shows him a slow grin, then leans in to kiss his chin; she uses her tongue, and then her teeth, and then trails up towards his mouth until she can tell that he can't take it anymore. Squirming like a little boy in a suit, but that reaction there, the places his hands find to tease, oh. . .that is all man.

Castle pushes back, his hands heavy on her thighs as she raises up to gain leverage. He hooks both hands around her back and pulls her down into him, the brief touch of their hips like lightning. But this isn't what she wanted to do this afternoon, not after all of this.

Kate pulls back, panting, and shakes her head at him. "Still got stuff to say. Hang on to that thought."

"Seriously?" he whines, darting in to nibble at the tongue that swipes her lower lip. "I'm pretty sure I've heard it all. Heard enough. Let's just-"

She gasps into his mouth, completely loses her train of thought as he tugs her tightly in; she surges closer, everything between them colliding, leaving no space.

When his hand creeps up the back of her shirt, slides under her bra, she breaks away again. She closes her eyes on a sucked in breath, squeezes her thighs together. Which makes it worse, and she's startled enough to open her eyes again and stare down at him.

With his hair mussed, his eyes fierce and imploring, and his mouth ready for hers, Richard-freaking-Castle stares back.

She blinks. "I had more to say."

He growls. "Say it fast, woman."

She laughs and falls against him, then flops back onto the couch gracelessly, realizing that she had been practically straddling his lap.

"I've forgotten it. Every word. You drive me crazy, Castle." Her breathlessness takes out any possible hint of reproach. Unfortunately.

"Mutual."

"I think I was going to say. . .that I love you." She had kept promising herself, back in Martha's living room, that she would come home and have this great purging moment, and then confess it all to him, and it would be clean between them again, and they would be better for it, and they might just sit and talk. Best laid plans, right? They always turn to sex instead. She wishes she knew how to stop, but of course, it's no fun to stop.

It can't be too bad that their only form of conflict resolution involves. . .such fun? That's love too, isn't it?

Castle's face is earnest when she opens her eyes, hovering over her. He traces a hand down the line of her nose, his gaze so desperately eager that it hurts her heart. "Kate-"

"I know you do too," she says quickly. "I've always known. You're very good at letting me know. Every word is a love letter, Castle."

He leans into her; she can feel him grinning into her hair. He moves down to her neck, tastes her pulse, soothes the pounding beat with a brush of his lips. She doesn't participate, tries to keep her head cool, but her face is flaming with the heat of his touch.

Castle leans back against the arm of the couch, bringing her with him, tries to curl her up against his chest, smoothing her hair away from his face, arranging her body just right. His hands spread down her back, smooth the skin at her arms, almost hypnotic, rhythmic. Her breath begins to settle even as he still manhandles her into place.

"I don't wanna," she whines, grinning into his shoulder. It's comfortable on the couch with him, curled up like this, even though it's a little warm, and his body takes up so much space.

"Hush," he chides, laughing a little, closing his eyes.

She lies there for a moment. She watches his eyes under his lids, the twitch of muscles in his jaw and cheeks and forehead as he tries to relax. She plays with the pocket of his shirt, tracing the edge of the photograph he saved from the box. "What are we doing?"

"Cuddling. Hush now. Don't ruin it."

"I don't wanna cuddle. You're hot and sweaty. You breathe too loud." She grins again, watches that flicker along his face.

He keeps his eyes closed. "You are so unromantic."

"I like flowers and chocolates as much as the next girl. But I got other things on my mind, Castle. Are we gonna do it now, or am I going to have to beg?"

His head pops up to look at her, his eyes wide. A salacious grin on his face. "Beg. Oh, Kate Beckett, beg me. Most definitely. Need you even ask?"

She chuffs a laugh and tries to raise up, but he clamps his arms around her and keeps her down. "Castle. Can't do it like this."

"Oh we could. We could make it work. But I wanna cuddle right now."

"Holy crap, Castle. You are such a girl."

"Then don't be so butch. Enjoy it."

She snorts, flicks her finger over his adam's apple, knowing what it does to him.

Instead, he drops his head back to the couch and closes his eyes. "Seriously Kate. It's not always about sex."

She stills, presses her nose into his collarbone. That had a tone to it she doesn't want to dissect, but he's right, still. Hadn't she *just* promised herself to sit with him and talk? Laying down on the couch must be better for him, she guesses, because of the delight on his face, the bliss, so Kate might have to put up with that for awhile. Cuddling. Hot and sweaty. She can think of so many better ways to get hot and sweaty.

He does look a little worried about what he said though. She can see it working on his face even with his eyes closed.

"Stop thinking so much," she murmurs, then settles her nose against his neck, inhaling lightly. She pats his cheek, then smooths her hand down his jaw. "I get it."

"I can cuddle now?"

"Fine. You can cuddle now." She lets her fingers play along his face like she does to Dash when he can't sleep, circling his eyes, trailing down his nose, brushing his lips. There's a little poem or saying that goes with it that her mom used to say to her, when Kate was little, but she doesn't remember all of it. Something about knocking at the door of her mouth, not falling in.

But it's lost. A lot of things like that are lost. She didn't know they were lost until she had a child of her own, but there were songs and bedtime routines and ways of getting rid of monsters under the bed, secrets her mother whispered to her during Mass, all kinds of shared history. What was that orange cheese she loved when she was five? How many times did it take for her to finally wriggle loose her first tooth?

Lost.

And finding her mother's killer will never bring those things back.

"Do I have a time limit on my cuddling?" he says suddenly, his lips moving under her fingers.

She snorts with laughter, raises up to look at him; he's still got his eyes closed like he's savoring it. "Until Dash wakes up, handsome. And then maybe tonight, if you don't get blankety on me. I'm feeling generous."

"Blankety? I'm pretty sure that's not a word."

"Blankety. As in, like a blanket. All over me."

"I like being all over you. What if we took off all the sheets and bedding? Could I be blankety then?"

"If it's winter and there's no power? Sure."

"That's rather limiting."

"There's always Christmas."

"Ooh, *and* my birthday."

"And your birthday," she laughs, giving in and lying back down on him. Her fingers drift down his throat, brush his collarbone. She drags her knee up, drapes her leg across his thigh to get comfortable. If she's going to do this, might as well do it right. Full out.

His hand between them drifts down to cradle the back of her knee, his thumb caressing. "Kate Beckett, you are too sexy for your own good," he whispers, then turns his mouth toward her, blows gently along her jawline. She shivers. How he does this to her. . .

"You know the real reason I don't wanna cuddle, Castle?"

"Hm?"

"Every time you touch me," she says softly, lifting up to see him again. This time his eyes are open, watching her. "Every time you touch me, it's hot. What's the point of laying here when all it makes me want to do is feel you move against me, your heat-"

"Oh my word, Beckett, if you don't stop that dirty talk right now, I'm going to have you on the floor." He groans and closes his eyes to her, his hand squeezing her knee. "Carpet burns. Remember?"

She winces, but a little smirk plays on her face; she can feel it. "Never mind. Forget I said anything." Her voice does to him what his touch does to her. Fair is fair.

"You were teasing me," he tries to confirm.

"No," she answers honestly, laying her head back down against his shoulder, cuddling like a good girl.

He shifts beside her, as if uncomfortable, his fingers exploring the angle of her knee. "No?"

"It's true. Every time, Castle. Hot."

"Holy-"

"It is pretty amazing, yeah. But sacred? I don't-"

He growls and she gasps at the play of his fingers, has to blink through the haze, grinning when her mouth finally shuts.

"Truce, truce," she murmurs.

"Accepted."

She brushes her fingers down his sternum, the material of his shirt soft and rough at the same time, her fingertips sensitized to it. She traces the patterns of the plaid, the lines back and forth, making a design along his chest.

"Oh jeez, Kate, oh! stop. You said truce!"

She smiles into his neck, but she does stop, curling her hand under her chin to prop her head up so she can see him. Castle has both eyes squeezed tightly shut, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. She hums in contentment, and he groans, lifts his hand to press it over her mouth. His other hand, still on her knee, squeezes in warning.

"Stop that too."

So demanding for a cuddler. She can't help the chuckle that slips out, kisses his palm before he snatches it away. She stays still though, because she knows he wants to try being. . .comfortable for awhile. The thing is, they went from intense exploration of each other straight to being exhausted parents. And this is the first time, in a long time, that either of them has had the energy for anything else.

So they've been doing a lot of anything else lately. It's good to get back to comfortable, to being familiar with the shape of his arm around her, the warmth of his chest, the sound of his breath in his lungs. She's not sure she's missed those things; she's not a cuddler. But she does enjoy the silence of them together, of not having to anticipate the insatiable need.

Still. She brushes her fingertips along the lines of plaid shirt, skims the pocket that still holds her picture, traces the buttons, can't help herself. She's never been good with contentment; there is always something else that needs to be done. A way to be more efficient. A task to complete. A list running in her head.

A timeline.

She's ready to jump up and get going, do something. Or take him back to the bedroom and make love to him, gentle and slow and sweet, the way he likes it best, like a girl. That would be generous of her too, wouldn't it?

"How much longer do you think he's going to sleep?" she whispers.

"It's Dash. Could be hours. Could be minutes. Hush. Still cuddling time."

"Don't you need to write?"

"You got Dash into preschool. I've got plenty of time now."

"Drat. Foiled by my own evil plan."

He laughs, skims his hand up her thigh and back to her knee. "Babe, I like your evil plans."

She growls. "Babe is not an option, Castle."

"I like babe. It's kinda stuck."

"It's not stuck. You are not Sonny and I am not Cher."

"It's mostly stuck. Very close to all the way stuck."

She groans at the delight in his voice, tilts her head to look at his face. He's looking down at her too. He raises his hand to captures hers, laces their fingers together on his chest. How cutesy he likes to be, all entwined like this. If she weren't in such a generous mood, not even cuddling could make her do this.

"It's a good one. It's got a ring to it."

"No way, Castle."

"You can call me stud."

"Since kitten is off the table-"

"You promised! I had to save your life for that one," he grumbles, but he's squeezing her hand.

"Can't we just not have nicknames? I can call you Rick," she breathes, feels his hips twitch when she does. Smiles.

He's determined to be good though. "But Alexis gets to call you mom. And your dad calls you Katie. And my mom calls you Katherine, if she uses a name at all, if it's not darling-"

"Dear one," Kate interrupts softly.

"Oh." He's quiet for a minute. "Or dear one." His arm squeezes her; he drops a kiss to her head that she barely feels. That's no good. "Ryan gets to call you boss. What do I call you?"

"How about Kate?"

"Booooring," he drawls.

"It's my name. I don't like nicknames."

"Oh. Are you mad that I started calling the kid Dash instead of Dashiell?"

She sighs, enjoys the sleepy sound to his voice as it comes to her through her ears and through the vibrations in his chest under her. "No. I expected it." He's well and truly committed to cuddling then.

"And Mother calls him Ham. Short for Hammett. Her own little joke."

"Also a pig. I'm sensing a trend with you Castles." Kate smiles a little. "Well, when she's not calling him_ enfant terrible_."

"He's not that terrible," Castle huffs.

Kate laughs again, lifting her head to catch Castle's eye. "That's not. . .that's not what it means when your mom says it."

"It's French."

"Yeah but it doesn't really mean a terrible kid. Okay, it kinda does. But your mom means it like, hmm, well, a kid who says things to embarrass his parents, or his elders. Things that are nonetheless true. A little truth-speaker. Really candid things. Or untimely things."

"Oh. Is that any better?"

She shrugs, her chin propped up on his chest as she watches him. Afternoon light has managed to work its way past the blinds they've shut; it bisects the line of his jaw, slants along his neck. Seen from her angle, it gives his face the look of a Picasso.

"Wait a minute. Are you fluent in French?" His words are said on a little squeak that makes her smile.

"Yes."

"How did I not know that? I should've realized, after that hot, whew, hot Russian-"

"That was Ukranian, Castle," she says, thumping his chest. "Kiev. I spent a semester in Kiev."

"I didn't even know they had a Ukranian."

"They do. Kiev, Ukraine. It's the capital."

"And after only a semester? You've got an ear for languages, don't you?"

"Mm," she murmurs noncommittally.

"You do. What else do you know? French, Ukranian, and-?"

She's not sure why she hesitates. This is really what she was going for all along, wanting them to slow down, be comfortable, find each other.

"If you know French fluently, then you probably know another Romance language. Italian?"

"Mm, yes. I speak Italian."

"Is that all?"

"No," she admits, biting her lip. She's never loved flaunting her gift with languages; for some reason, it was always made to seem ridiculous, like a hidden talent that should only be brought out at parties so others can laugh. The guys at the 12th don't know either, at least, not most all it. "Croatian. Serbian. Slovene."

"No Czech?" he laughs.

She presses her cheek against his shoulder to keep him from seeing her spark of pride and indignation. People never understand why she loves language, why words in English or Ukranian or Croatian or Italian just form such beauty-

No. This is Castle. Castle is all about words. And Castle thinks it's. . .she doesn't know what he thinks, actually. So she needs to stop comparing him to all the philistines who've never understood the world she came from, nor the world she chose.

"How'd you learn all those, Kate?"

"My grandfather is Serbian. My grandmother is Croatian. They met in Italy after their families emigrated from the former Yugoslavia. Their only common language became Italian, then some Slovene as time went on. They eventually came to Ohio where my mom was born, then to New York. I have some family still in Ohio."

"Do I need a geography lesson to understand this story? Because if you're the teacher, I can be an apt pupil."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I learned languages from them. They used to curse at each other in their own language and my mom would put her hands over my ears, but of course I didn't know what it meant. It had the effect of making me curious to know what they were saying."

"Really? Are you kidding me? You picked up Serbian and Croatian from your grandparents? Just like that?"

She bites her bottom lip and shrugs. "And the Slovene and Italian. All of it. And my mom spoke it too, Castle. Just not often."

"Still. How much time did you get to spend with them?"

"When I was younger, it was a lot. This was when I was. . .um, three, four, five. Something like that. I practiced on my mom; she'd correct my grammar. I don't think she meant for me to be bilingual-"

"Trilingual at that point. Wait, is there a word for four? Or five? Or do you just skip to a polyglot and call it a day?"

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No," he says solemnly, but his eyes *are* teasing. His hand squeezes her thigh. "Never."

He is. A little bit. Kate glances up at Castle again, smirking. "Remember that night when Dashiell was teething and he nearly bit my finger off? I cursed and you came up and grabbed him from me and then I cursed at you?"

"I thought that was just Russian. Which I know now to be Ukranian."

"One curse was Serbian. One was Croatian. One from each."

"They sound similar."

"They do. Same family tree."

"And Slovene and Ukranian sound. . .similar?"

She lifts an eyebrow. "Very good. All Slavic languages. They do sound similar, some words go back and forth but mean different things depending on what language you use. I have trouble keeping track now."

Castle brushes a finger across her forehead, pushes her hair back to give her a long look. "Should we. . .find you some Slavic families in the city so you can practice? Are you going to teach Dash to speak your grandparents' languages? Or maybe pick just one and go with that?"

She blinks, stares at him. "I didn't. . .hadn't thought of it."

"This is part of your heritage. Your mom's heritage."

"I. . ." She shakes her head, a little overwhelmed by the idea. "I don't know."

It never occurred to Kate to trade her determination to solve her mother's death into a different kind of legacy, a legacy of language and tradition, a culture of difficult and beautiful words that her son could also take part in. What part could her son have in tireless vengeance?

Castle's already on a roll. "You know there's a Serbian restaurant in the East Village. Kafana's? Something like that. I bet the owners would know of a community center where we might take Dashiell, expose him to other speakers. Little kids learn languages fast."

She is not going to cry again today. That would be just absolutely ridiculous. A week away from the NYPD and here she is, reduced to tears for every emotional expression. She's a wreck. She has to get a handle on this.

"I'd like that," she says finally, proud of the way her voice doesn't break.

Castle has propped a hand behind his head; he's lost in his own thoughts and plans now, working it out loud. She watches his face as he does, the way he gets caught up in excitement for something that, technically, isn't even his. Although it sounds like he thinks it will be.

"It'll be so annoying if my kid starts cursing me in Serbian. Jeez. Why couldn't it be an easy one like Spanish? I mean, I'll do my best, Kate, but I am the pits at languages. Mental block or something. It just never translates."

She laughs, can't hold back the absurdity of a writer saying he's bad at languages. Of all things. "Seriously? You're bad at languages?"

"Oh, laugh it up furball-"

"Oh my gosh, and then you quote Star Wars to me? You are just. . .too geeky for words, Castle. God, I love it."

"You better; it's the best you're gonna get from me," he says, then dips his head to brush his mouth along her ear. "And can I say how hot it is that you *know* that's from Star Wars?"

She can't stop laughing now, has to put her hand over her mouth and sit up to catch her breath. She's wedged in between Castle's body and the back of the couch; he still reclines, spread out over the cushions, a hand behind his head to look at her. She waves a hand in front of her face, now to keep from crying with laughter.

"Castle, the only reason I know that line is because you've made me watch Star Wars a hundred times."

"I never heard you complain."

"It's good the first. . .ten or so. Then it gets repetitive. And overly dramatic. Sheesh, come on already. He's your father!"

"Oh my word. No you didn't." He gives her the _talk to the hand_ sign.

She pokes him, draws her knees up under her and makes some room for herself. "I did. And, Castle? back to the languages thing? If you're serious, I am too. I think it would be a really. . .amazing thing to teach Dash. For my mom."

Castle sits up as well, grinning at her again. "Awesome. This will be fun. Are you gonna speak it all day? Like an immersion thing?"

"Why?" She narrows her eyes at him.

"Cause it's hot."

She waits him out.

"You could talk to me in Serbian. Or Croatian. Or Italian, sexy, sexy Italian. Or dirty Ukranian. . .hey wait a second. What were the other fifty?"

"Shut up."

"How come I never knew this stuff? Did your Dad speak any of these?"

"A little bit. A very little bit that he picked up from my mother. But Mom was the first generation born in the States, so my grandparents spent most of their efforts focusing on American culture, so she did too. A lot got lost. A lot has been lost even from my mom to me. You don't write stuff down when you're 19."

"Hey," he says, "It's okay. We'll do what we can, won't worry about the rest of it, Kate."

She nods, feeling suddenly the weight of all of her adult life slipping from her shoulders at his words. We. A solitary millstone became a shared burden with Castle's nosy insistence on poking into her mother's case; now, Castle has somehow convinced her to let it go completely. Well, Castle and Dash. Her son.

The albatross around her neck has lifted. It will take some practice walking around without it, adjusting to the feel of straighter shoulders, the lack of gravity. She won't carry it around with her any longer, her steps will be altered, but-

"Mom-meeeeeee!"

Their eyes meet and Castle is the first to break, laughing breathlessly under her. Kate bounces a little as she climbs over him and gets off the couch. "Cuddling is over!"

"Aw, man-"

"Mum-mum-mum-mum-muh!"

Kate cracks a smile and raises an eyebrow at Castle, then holds her hand out to him. He slaps his palm in hers; when he gets up with her help, he is extraordinarily close, his chest brushing hers whenever he breathes in deeply.

"Your son wants you."

"You coming?"

"I could be persuaded."

She touches his lips with hers, gently, putting as much care in it as she can summon. No more gratitude, no more apologies, no more desperation. Just the tingling awareness of his proximity, the heat of his body affecting hers, and the loop of electricity that closes when their mouths meet.

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

Castle chuckles as they break apart. "Let's go, Mommy."


	89. Chapter 89

Castle buttons the last of Dash's clothing, stands the boy up on the changing table. Kate comes into the room with the washcloth and wipes Dashiell's face, chuckling as the kid squirms away from her.

"I can't believe you, of all people, want another one of these," Castle says, growling as Dashiell bends his knees and tries to flip off the table backwards. Head first. The kid knows no fear.

Kate laughs and nudges his hip with hers, scrubs at a spot just behind Dash's ear. "How'd he get play-doh back here?" she murmurs, then holds Dash by the armpit to keep him trapped on the table. "And, Castle, I can't believe you *don't*."

It's not that. He would. He just. . .he sighs.

The quick brush of lips against his cheek startle him back to reality. Kate's face is close, the two of them holding Dash but not really seeing him any longer.

"No pressure."

He nods. "I'll. . .let you know."

"I know. I won't plead my case. Just. . ." She gasps as Dashiell manages to Houdini out of her grasp; Castle tightens his hold on the toddler but the move has already wrenched him free-

Kate and Castle lunge for him at the same time; it is Kate who breaks his fall. Dashiell grunts when his belly gets clotheslined by Kate's arm. Castle has the back of the boy's onesie in hand, the soft cotton in his fist.

He meets Kate's eyes even as she gets two hands under him and presses their son against her chest.

"Your heart pounding?"

She jerks her head yes. "Too many of those moments with this one. Worse than running down a suspect."

It's supposed to be funny, but it's not. He nods back, can't take his hand off the boy's back. They stand in the dim room together, breathing harshly even as Dashiell begins his usual struggle to get down, grunting and babbling at them louder and louder in protest to being held.

"Downstairs?" he says finally.

She nods and lets Dashiell slide down her leg and to the floor. The toddler immediately makes for the door at a run, giggling and squealing. At least he isn't stealthy; you'd never misplace him like this. Castle has to untangle his still stunned feet to go after him, manages to catch Dash just as he takes that first step down the stairs.

"No, Dash. You need a hand to hold."

"No hand, Daddy!"

"Hand."

"No, Daddy. Mommy!"

Kate is just behind him. "Hand. You need to hold someone's hand."

"Mommy."

"Fine," Castle says, holds Dashiell's arm until Kate has a grip on the boy's hand. "Go down with Mommy."

"Go go go, Momma!"

"We're going, wild man. Slow your roll."

Castle barks out a laugh and catches her eye. She shrugs and grins back at him, the scare over the changing table dissolving. That's usually his job, isn't it? She seems to have picked it up from him. It pleases Castle in an entirely cave-man like way, that he's changed her, influenced her, made her over in this small space of her personality.

Dashiell strains at Kate's hand, but Castle gets to follow at a leisurely pace, watching with amusement as Dash misses a step and swings into space, squealing in pure joy rather than any kind of appropriate fear.

When Kate lifts the kid over the baby gate at the bottom, Castle steps over it as well, waiting for Kate. She lets Dash go when his feet are steady and then the boy is off again.

"Dishwasher locked?" she asks.

"Check. Front door locked?"

"He can reach?" Her head snaps to meet his eyes.

"Yeah."

"Damn."

"Language."

"Dang," she exaggerates with an eye-roll. "How does he know I'm not talking about his beloved grandmother?"

"I think he can tell the difference between a 'd' and a 'g' you know. He just can't say it yet."

Kate, ignoring him, is already heading for the kitchen and calls out, "Dashiell! Want a snack?"

"Ack, Momma! Ee-os!"

"No Cheetos."

Dashiell comes full steam back through the entry and heads for the kitchen. Castle follows, goosing the boy as he runs. "Where'd you run off to, little rabbit?"

"Nut-uh," Dash throws back, looking over his shoulder at his father with a half-panicked grin. "Tase, Daddy."

"I am chasing you. You better watch where-"

And then, of course, Dashiell runs smack into the bar stool at the kitchen island, rebounding with a comedic sprawl, his arms windmilling. Castle reaches out to steady him, waiting to see if the kid will crack.

He does. Dashiell sucks in a loud breath and lets loose a shriek, both offended and in pain, the worst combination for an independent, almost-two year old. Kate rounds the corner from the pantry, giving Castle an eyebrow, a bag of pretzels in one hand, peanut butter in the other, completely calm in the way only a parent of an accident-prone child can be.

"I leave you alone for five seconds?"

"Yeah, you know me." Castle scoops Dashiell up and presses the boy's head to his shoulder. "I know, I know. Poor thing. Hurts huh?"

"Mom-ma," he wails, opening his mouth wide and biting Castle's deltoid.

"No biting. Mommy doesn't want to get bit by her little boy, even if he is sad."

"Mom-ma, mom-ma," he sobs, sucking in another breath for an even better wail.

Kate dumps the peanut butter and pretzels to the counter and holds out her arms for her son. Castle hands him over and bypasses them to the pantry, hunting for nutella. Perfect on pretzels, plus Dashiell needs a little comfort food.

From the walk-in pantry, he can hear the hiccupy sighs of his son and Kate's low tones as she talks to him in a normal voice. Again, he's reminded of how differently they parent. She's probably quietly informing Dash that running without looking where you're going is a bad idea and next time he should be more careful, and of course, Dash is growing ever quieter under her calm instruction.

Maybe he babies the kid. Preschool will be a certain cure for that, won't it? One of many. No babying there.

And if he babies his son, maybe somehow Dash knows that he'll get control of himself faster if Kate is the one to comfort him. Maybe that's why he's been asking for Kate every time.

Castle finally unearths the jar of nutella from behind a box of brownie mix; Kate always says nutella is not a healthy food but a dessert, despite the fact that it's clearly the same as peanut butter, just with a little cocoa added to make it wonderful.

He backs out of the pantry, remembers the clothes he forgot in the washing machine. He pivots and heads into the laundry room, putting the nutella on the shelf above the dryer so he can unload.

It takes a few minutes to shovel everything inside; he has to hold up two of Kate's blouses and do a little debating before deciding to go with caution and hang them up. He's usually the one doing the laundry because, as thrifty as Kate is, she dumps everything at the cleaners. So not acceptable when he has time-

Ah. Right. Okay, so house husband that he is, Mr. Mom that he is, he has learned something today. Next time she wants to just dump her workclothes at the cleaners, he'll agree to it and use the time to do his actual job. Or go find her at hers. That idea makes him grin.

He brushes the wrinkles out of her pink blouse, can't help remembering a time he saw her wear it, almost three years ago. He'd walked into the station with her coffee, bear claw; he had his phone distracting him in his pocket because he'd gotten a text he hadn't read yet, and his attention wasn't entirely on Kate. For once.

But it quickly was. The motion of her standing up, long legs in those grey pants, the skinny black belt, the pink blouse tucked in to her trim waist and-

That's what had told him, the blouse. She'd stood up to stretch or catch someone's ringing phone or print another detail on the murderboard or whatever, but she was in profile to him and the blouse was fitted and tucked in, and she had-

A bump.

Richard Castle knew every line and curve of her body (very little curve to it, just svelte, liquid line), and he knew that wasn't right, knew with a clarity that was both startling and intimate that the thickening, the curve, the round nudge of her shirt as her arms were up-

He'd counted back in his head and tried to think about it clearly, logically, not with his wildly, heart-thumping, crazy-excited side, and he couldn't come up with anything other than-

A baby.

She wasn't the most revealing person; he wasn't the kind of obsessive guy who knew cycles and mood swings; he took her moments as they came and got too caught up in that fit of writing fever for time to have a definite impression on him. He didn't try not to notice; he'd not be grossed out by noticing, but the lack of it had just been this one big blur lately, and they'd together for only three months, the exquisite energy of her around him was magic no matter the conditions, and her blouse was tight along the curve of her-

What else could it have been?

Castle brushes his hand over the thin material of the blouse, both aroused and finally able to be amused by that day. (It was not amusing then; it was thrilling in a deathly kind of way, all hinging on Kate's questionable knowledge and/or ultimate decision.) He finds his nutella and heads back out into the kitchen. Dashiell, who used to be just that unnoticed curve to her line, is sitting at the bar with a mouthful of bread, peanut butter slathered on top, tear tracks drying on his face. He crams another bite into his mouth and grins at daddy, hands reaching out for the nutella.

He has a son. He has a son.

"Castle," Kate complains, pointing at the jar.

"It's like peanut butter." But he's still a little caught up in pink fabric and curves.

"It's like chocolate frosting."

"Uh, but it's so good."

"I think Dash has a fever," she switches the subject, taking the nutella from him and twisting off the top.

He watches with interest as she smears nutella onto a few pieces of toast, all without his even opening his mouth to ask.

She hands one to Dash, one to Castle, then makes herself one too. Kate closes the jar and licks the edge of the knife. Castle flinches, spell broken, and glances over at Dash.

"He what?"

"Fever. Check."

He sticks his toast (his Kate-made toast) in his mouth to free his hands, then presses the inside of his wrist to Dash's forehead.

She meets his eyes; he nods and bites, swallows the toast so he can take the rest of it out of his mouth. "Could be."

"Damn."

"Dam?" Dash asks, twisting his head to see the door.

Kate shoots him a triumphant look and licks her finger, then makes a mark in the air as if she's giving herself a point.

Castle rolls his eyes back at her (wonders even as he speaks if she sees him roll his eyes and thinks the same, _here is a way I have changed him_). "Yeah, yeah."

"No Dam," Dash says solemnly, and turns back around in his seat to grab his nutella-topped toast with both hands. He crams another bite into his mouth and Castle notices that his cheeks are flushed. Again. Weren't they flushed at lunch too?

"Was he hot when he woke up?"

"Yeah, but he always is," Kate says, licking nutella from her thumb. The knife is safely in the sink, but jeez, now Castle knows where Dashiell gets his total lack of fear from.

"What about at lunch?"

Kate blinks and chews on her lower lip as she thinks back. "I. . .I don't have a clear-"

"His cheeks were flushed."

"Yeah?" she says, leaning her hip against the counter.

"Preschool," he supplies, putting his elbows on the counter and slanting his hips so he can stare her down. "Welcome to the beginning of every disease known to childhood."

"Oh," she says simply, glances over at Dash. "Better now than later. Hate to have to keep him home from kindergarten every other week."

"How is it you have an answer for everything?"

"I'm just that good."

He stands up again, takes a chunk of nutella-delightful toast, watches Dashiell carefully lick the top of his hand, cleaning nutella from his knuckles.

"Well, those kind of personal grooming habits probably don't help," Kate adds, nodding her head towards the cat-like behavior.

"Eh, he'll make it. Adapt or die."

Kate chuckles and looks over at him. Castle avoids her eyes. "Hey there, stud, you changing your mind about preschool already?"

"No. It's a petri dish."

"I think you kinda did."

"It's a cookie cutter, soul-stealing-"

"What have I said about needlessly dramatizing, Castle?"

"This is need*ful* drama, Kate."

"This is the perfect example of pointless mental anguish."

"Hey, you know what I noticed?"

He likes to throw her off guard like that. He can practically see her mentally stumbling as she tries to switch gears.

"What'd you notice?" she asks, hesitating on another bite of toast.

"Your pink shirt. I hung it up to dry-"

"Oh good, I don't think it's supposed to go in the dryer. I told you, just let me take everything to the cleaners, Rick. I can't afford to-" She pauses, laughs a little, winces as he watches her. "Okay, I can afford to replace whatever you ruin. Well. Look at that."

"Look at that," he says softly, grinning at her.

She shakes it off. "I like that pink blouse. Was something wrong with it?"

"Nope. It's just, I realize now why you're thinking about having another kid."

Again, he's got her trying to switch gears in the middle of their conversation. Best part is this actually does have something to do with the shirt.

"What?"

"That's the blouse you were wearing when I noticed."

"Noticed what? Oh. Oh, are you kidding me?"

"That's the reason. It's like a subliminal message. I haven't seen you wear that pink shirt since then."

"Maybe what it is, then, is a flag of surrender instead?" she counters, leaning forward a little to smirk at him. "A way of saying, _I give up. Lay it on me_."

As she wanted it to, of course, that causes a body-wide grin to flourish on his face, just thinking about laying it on her. She smirks back at him, raises her finger, adds another point to her invisible tally.

That's a little insufferable.

"Remember when I freaked out and asked you in the middle of the bullpen?"

Kate narrows her eyes at him. "I certainly do. Although why you think it's a good idea to bring that up now, when I had only barely decided to let you live after that, when your punishment is only half fulfilled-"

"Ooh, yes please. Punish me, Detective."

She groans and surges forward, the counter between them, but her mouth fierce against his. Castle laughs into the attack, feels the heat of her tongue slip past his lips. He bring his hands to her face, accidentally smears nutella under her eye, can't help but break the kiss to go after it, sucking the chocolate spread from the tender spot above her cheekbone.

He feels her shudder down to her bones, mentally marks a point for himself in her invisible scorepad, goes back to her mouth to finish the job.

He hadn't realized the talk about that blouse, about how he was the one to think pregnancy was the cause of the thickening, the irritable mornings, all that talk is a turn-on for Kate? Fascinating. Something else to file away for later.

He has to admit, the idea of trying for another one is looking a whole lot more appealing with Kate's tongue jammed down his throat and her hands sliding under his collar.

And the memory of that curve under her shirt.

Dashiell interrupts of course. Literally puts his face between them after having crawled from his seat onto the countertop. Kate gasps and jumps back, knocking her hand against the nutella and causing it to fall. Dashiell lunges after it, evidently the goal of his climbing, diving headfirst towards the floor.

Castle catches him this time, and only by the foot, Castle's whole body stretched across the island to make that grab. Dashiell giggles like a fool as he hangs upside down, hands still grasping for the nutella, banging his free foot into the cabinets below the kitchen island.

"Told you. Nutella isn't healthy," Kate says breathlessly.

"Neither is kissing, apparently," Castle comments, hoisting Dashiell back up onto the counter, letting the boy spill face first on it. "Dashiell, no more. The floor is a long way down. You will get hurt."

Kate has picked up the nutella; she holds it to her chest as Dashiell makes the baby sign for 'more' and grunts at her. "No. Sit DOWN."

Kate's commands are more effective of course. Dashiell scampers back to his seat, nearly toppling the chair. Castle steadies it, scoots it back up to the counter.

"Preschool is gonna break him like a wild mustang," Castle mutters.

"Well, good," Kate says vehemently. "Someone sure as hell should."

He knows she's saying it because she's been just as ridiculously, heart-pumpingly scared as he's been, but he can't help getting the mental image of Ms. Amy taking Dashiell over her knee and breaking the boy's back.

"Hell, hell!" Dashiell yells back.

By mutual, instant agreement, both Castle and Kate ignore that one and set about righting the counter. Kate brushes crumbs into the sink, takes the knife back out to smooth more nutella over another piece of bread.

"No! Tote!" Dash yells. "Hell, tote!"

"Your fault," Castle mutters to her.

She shoots him a death stare but drops the bread in front of Dashiell with glare of almost equal proportions. "No more toast. Seconds is just bread. Boys who jump off counters don't get toast."

Dashiell dissolves into a whine, shoving the bread back at Kate with a grunt of disapproval and a glare to rival his mother's.

Castle snatches him out of the chair and heaves him towards time-out. "You do not treat your mother that way," he grits out, dumps the kid on his time-out mat in the entryway. Dashiell's shocked face is already melting into dramatic tears.

Castle walks off. "One minute for being disrespectful," he calls back over his shoulder, raising his voice so Dash can hear him over his own howling. If he had a penny for every time-out Dashiell gets for being disrespectful. . .

Kate is standing awkwardly in the kitchen, watching him with a strange look on her face. He glances at her, grabs Dashiell's unwanted bread and begins to eat it for himself.

"Rick?"

He sits in Dashiell's seat and lifts his eyes, mouth full.

He's not sure what that look is for, or what her eyes are saying. Kate shifts her attention to the little boy still only half visible but definitely audible from the entry.

"Yeah?" he queries, curious about whatever it is going through her head.

"You just. . .defended my honor."

He laughs and tilts his head, swallowing his snack. "I did what?"

"It's kinda charming," she says, an amused smile spreading across her face. "He's just our kid, but. . ."

"What? He can't talk to you like that or it would never end."

"No, yeah, you're right," she hastily agrees, coming across the counter to slide up next to him.

Before he realizes what's going on, Kate has worked herself between the counter (with his nutella on it) and his chair, her arms twining around his neck.

"That was a little sexy, in a thoroughly domestic way," she whispers against his mouth.

Rick swallows but already her tongue is swiping at the last traces of chocolate in the corner of his mouth. He pants against her onslaught, wraps his arms around her and lifts, bringing her into his lap, her legs straddling him, her body tight and responsive and hot-

"Up, up, up, Daddddeeeee!"

Kate gasps on a bubble of laughter, and Castle buries his head in her neck to both catch his breath and laugh against her skin.

"Oh, jeez, Kate, two of them?" he groans. "We'd never get a chance to start a third."

She jerks violently in his arms, like she's been touched with a live wire, and he glances up at her in concern, only to find that her eyes are violet with arousal, and tenderness, and a kind of burning he's never seen on her face before, but which might be love, love of the future spreading out in a vision before her.

"Okay," he says, his voice raw with it. "Okay, Kate."

"Okay?" she murmurs, her hands reverent on his cheeks, brushing along his nose.

He closes his eyes to feel it, the keen edge of desire and the overwhelming need to lay everything at her feet, give her all of it, himself and the world and even, if it comes to it, all his grief and anguish and anxiety as well. "I'll make an appointment with Dr. Glazer. And then-"

"Castle!"

Her hands capture his head, hold him still as he lets his eyes open, stare back at her.

"What happened to six months?"

"You did," he groans, pushes his face against her neck because he just can't, can't stand the way her joy etches beauty into every line of her skin, her eyes, burning him with its intensity. And yet, his heart feels feather light in the burn of her joy.

"No," she says, tilting his face back, her knees squeezing his hips. "No, love, look at me. Only if you-"

He laughs, can't help it. "Love?"

She blushes! blushes at that and then scolds him. "Shut up. You're scaring the crap out of me, Castle, and I'm trying to be gentle with you here-"

"Have mercy, Kate," he groans, and laughs again, wrapping his arms tighter around her and dipping his mouth down to taste her, drink her in, all that still-burning joy-

"Dadddeeee," Dashiell moans from the entry.

"Oh, oops. Way longer than a minute," Kate murmurs, pulling back.

"Yeah," he gets out, clears his throat as she slides off his lap. "Damn."

"Language," she teases, but he can still see the hope in her eyes.

"Let me get Dash. We can talk if you want-"

"Yes."

Castle tumbles from the bar stool, his legs like rubber after that encounter, his chest tight, but his head still swimming with Kate. Kate, Kate, Kate.

This woman he never wants to disappoint, never wants to deny, never wants to neglect.

Never wants to be without.

But what is fear in the face of her joy?


	90. Chapter 90

When Castle takes Dashiell's temperature, it's nearly 100, and the boy looks sluggish even for mid-afternoon, post-nap. Kate sends Castle out for children's motrin and settles in the armchair by the windows, Dashiell in her lap.

After a second, the boy is restless and squirming, so she lets him down and grabs the remote for the entertainment system. She surfs the sports package until she finds a baseball game on satellite. Oakland A's and Seattle Mariners. Bright sunshine.

Dashiell stands still in front of the tv for a long time, watching, before breaking from his trance and heading for his basket of toys. He roots around in the basket until he comes up with a truck and a little plastic soccer ball, then he heads back for Kate.

Surprised, she helps him crawl back into the chair with his two toys, lets him settle down beside her. Dashiell keeps the ball close to his chest and runs the truck around Kate's knee with a few engine noises. After only a few seconds, he's hypnotized by the baseball game again, but it looks more feverish than it does love.

Still, she's glad; she wants him to rest as much as possible this afternoon, then go to bed early if he will.

Castle gets back in the bottom of the fifth inning; he dumps the liquid motrin and an oral syringe out onto the coffee table in front of her. He sits down heavily and causes Dashiell to look at him.

"Hey buddy," Castle says, picking up the bottle and reading the side. "He feel the same?"

"Yeah. He's a little sedate. . .for Dashiell, I mean."

"Watching a baseball game, Dash?"

"Ball-ball," Dash agrees, holding his soccer ball up for Castle to see.

"I see." But Castle is gesturing to the medicine and catching Kate's gaze. "Want to do this? Or me?"

She chews on her bottom lip. "I don't even. . .know where to start," she admits. And yeah, it feels a little shameful to admit it.

"Hey, not a problem," he assures her, picking up the oral syringe and taking it apart. He cracks open the motrin with a deft move of his wrist (practice, no doubt) and glances at the directions again. "First time for everything. Alexis was a sickie her first year of kindergarten-"

Kate quirks a grin at him, hopes he's listening to what he just confessed.

Castle waves the bottle at her. "Yeah, yeah, point for you." He goes back to reading the side of the bottle. "Whatever. I'm an old hand at this. Should be no problem. Just make sure you hold him down."

"Wait. What?" Hold him down? "Where does the oral syringe go, Castle? We are putting it in his mouth, right?"

Castle chuckles, giving her that _oh you are so naive_ shake of his head. Infuriating man. "Yes, it goes in his mouth. Just make sure you're holding him down like you would a suspect on meth. Okay?"

A suspect on meth? Is he insane? She rolls her eyes at him and smooths her hand down poor Dash's belly, patting his leg. "Just do it, Castle."

And then Kate finds out exactly what Castle is talking about.

* * *

><p>Who knew it would be such an endeavor?<p>

Worse than an endeavor, an all-out brawl. A fight. Every step a struggle. Getting Dashiell to take the medicine is like trying to take down a suspect high on meth.

Castle did try to warn her.

Kate clamps a leg around Dashiell's waist, pinning him to the kitchen floor. The armchair is terribly stained, the carpet underneath it spotted red; they've wasted two doses so far, and she is *not* going to waste a third. Her arm tightens around Dashiell's chest as he writhes like a boy possessed, howling.

With his lips firmly closed, of course.

"Dashiell Alexander, STOP!" she threatens coldly, because cajoling, pleading, and yelling haven't worked.

"Nnnnn-Nnnnn," he screams, still keeping his lips pressed firmly together. He arches backwards, but Kate locks him down, her eyes coming up to meet Castle's.

Her husband is kneeling next to them, a paper towel wrapped around the hand holding the oral syringe, that look of amused observer finally wiped from his face. She hates it when he gets like that, all cocky and pleased with himself. When the first dose got sprayed back out in her face, Dashiell bucking in her arms and nearly flopping out onto the floor, it was Castle's smug look that sent her over the edge.

The second dose was wasted in the floor of the living room, where she'd moved to with Dashiell when she thought he might, just might, actually jerk himself out of her arms. This time, Castle had cautioned her to use both arms to hold him down, but it hadn't done any good. After that second dose, Castle no longer looked so smug and cocky. He just looked harried.

So she'd moved them to the kitchen, Dashiell screaming the whole way, writhing and sobbing pitifully, telling her it hurt, it hurt, it was yucky. Once in the kitchen, Kate made the mistake of deciding to let Dashiell calm down before they tried again, giving him juice, making him another piece of toast (plain this time).

She realizes now that her peace offering might have, in fact, been misconstrued as a reward for his bad behavior with the first two doses. She wasn't thinking clearly, obviously, being so rattled by his abject misery in the face of taking his medicine.

"Dashiell, I need you to take your medicine so you can feel better-" Castle starts, but trying to be rational with Dash now is just fuel on the fire.

And he *is* on fire now. She can feel the heat of his fever at every contact point. She's sweating not just because she's wrestling her demonically-strong son, but also because the burn of his illness is seeping through his clothes like a furnace. It's got to be over a 100 now.

Kate jerks as Dashiell tries to buck her off again, the top of the boy's head slamming into her chin and catching her tongue between her teeth. She groans and closes her eyes, tilting her head back, tears smarting.

"Kate-"

She shakes her head at him, opens her eyes. "Fine. I'm fine. No more of this." Kate releases Dash's flailing hands, readjusts her hold so that just one arm has his arms pinned to his chest, then reaches up and squeezes Dashiell's cheeks together. She has to use both legs, one wrapped around his waist and one across his ankles to keep him steady.

His lips pop open, but his teeth are clenched. Doesn't matter. "Now, Castle." A pause, a heartbeat of nothing, and she looks up at him, sees his hesitation. "NOW, Castle."

He jerks his hand forward and puts the end of the syringe in the corner of Dashiell's mouth, squirts the liquid out slowly, painfully slowly, so that Dashiell doesn't choke on it.

Kate clamps her hand over his mouth the second the syringe pulls away, her elbow and forearm leveraged against Dash's chest. This lets her use her other hand to massage the boy's throat, lightly, lightly, until he gulps reflexively, and it goes down.

He's too little to rationalize or threaten or cajole a dose of medicine into him, but she still feels badly for doing it like this. It was necessary, she knows it was, but now Dashiell's looking at her, staring up at her from her lap like she's a traitor. And that sucks.

Especially when she lets go and he opens his mouth, still swallowing convulsively, and sobs, great big fat tears down his cheeks.

And then he reaches for Daddy.

Oh _wow_. That hurts.

Castle takes him, dropping the oral syringe to the floor so he can wrap both arms around Dashiell. The boy sobs against his chest, leaving a red stain on his father's shirt, his tears and nose snotty, and Kate is just. . .so jealous.

She swallows and tastes the blood in her mouth from her bitten tongue. She leans forward and scoops up the syringe, stands to put it in the sink to be washed. She finds the children's motrin and puts it in the medicine cabinet as Castle moves to the couch with Dash.

Her eyes sting with tears. Stupid, so stupid. Because the kid is not even two, will never remember this, and she *had* to get that motrin down his throat. It was for his own good. She wouldn't change it; she doesn't regret it.

Doesn't mean she feels good about it.

"Kate?" he stage whispers from the next room.

She rubs her hands over her face and walks through, stepping around the back of the couch to look at him.

Dashiell is cradled in his arms like a baby, face a mess of tears, snot, and motrin, but he clutches at his father's shirt and sniffles. A little less freaked out, but not less aggrieved.

"Come here," Castle says, and nods to the seat beside him.

She wants to, she longs to, but she can't. She doesn't deserve to-

"Kate Beckett." Her name is a warning on his tongue; he knows her too well.

She slides forward, her eyes on Dash.

"He's already forgiven you. Even though there's nothing to forgive," Castle says firmly. "Now get over here."

She sits down and Dashiell immediately lifts both hands for her. Kate gathers him up, revels in the way the boy clings to her chest like a barnacle, his tears renewed but mostly, it seems, just for her benefit. Just to be a little dramatic. Just like his daddy. She rubs Dash's back with a hand and cradles his head with the other, whispers softly into his ear.

"It's okay, it's okay. You'll feel better soon."

"Of course, you know, he hadn't been feeling badly before we had ultimate cage fight in our living room-" Castle starts; she thwacks him with her hand. He rubs his chest with a grin.

"Don't listen to Daddy," Kate whispers, kissing Dashiell's ear, the soft fuzz of hair at his temple, the hard dome of his forehead. "Daddy is being silly."

"I can't wait to try out some of those wrestling moves on you," he continues, slumped next to her on the couch so that his head is just at her shoulder. "Ooh, even better! You could try out those wrestling moves on *me* instead." He wriggles his eyebrows.

And she laughs. A quick one, more of a huff of irritation, but she can't help it. And she knows that's exactly what he was going for.

Helping her have a little fun. Like he does so well.

Her arms tighten on Dashiell and she drops her chin to Dash's head, winces when she feels the bruise there. She angles to put her cheek against him instead. "That was excruciating."

Castle laughs. "Yup. It'll be like that every time too. Until he's. . .five or so."

Five? "Was Alexis this bad? Is that how you knew?"

"Alexis was typical. Dashiell had an added element of brute strength. But Alexis would sob and plead and use those big eyes of hers to absolutely break my heart. And I didn't have anyone else around to help, to make me, so our medicine battles got drawn out over hours and hours, protracted and all the more painful because I kept relenting-"

Oh, and now *her* heart breaks a little, picturing an inexperienced Richard Castle begging his little girl to just take her medicine.

"What did you do?"

"Eventually, I held her down. Until she was about two and a half. Then I could just guilt trip her into it; she was old enough to get it, you know? But she'd cry the whole time she took it, cry and whisper, _Please don't make me, Daddy_. Whimpering. God, it was miserable."

And now her heart is wrung into a tight little ball of imagined misery, for his sake, and Kate turns her head and kisses that spot just below his eye where he got her earlier. She can feel his lashes flutter against her lips.

He grins. "Thanks for your pity. I have a feeling, though, that Dashiell is gonna fight us. Not with emotional blackmail like Alexis, but with his whole body."

"Yeah, ya think?" she says, but she's still watching his face, seeing for the first time that soft-candy-center of his parenthood. So much of what they've gone through with Dash has been routine for him, second time around, a trip down memory lane. A little more extreme maybe, but he's done it before.

But telling her that story released the vault, cracked open the parenting armor and got her down to see the vulnerable guy with the adorable baby girl, doing it alone because he just had to.

He had to.

"I'm so glad I'm not doing this alone," she says suddenly, the confession practically flying out of her lips. She turns as best she can with Dashiell in her lap, and she presses her lips against his neck, his jaw, closes her eyes.

He slides his arm along hers to reinforce her hold on Dash, nuzzles his nose against her cheek before kissing her, his mouth richly warm, soothing.

"No fun doing it alone," he whispers.

"No. I mean. No-" She shakes her head and lifts to meet his eyes. "I'm glad it never occurred to me to not do this with you. That I didn't do something really stupid and shut you out of my life."

His eyes go flat. "You wouldn't have."

She agrees hastily. "Never. Never. I wouldn't have. It was always going to be with you or not at all. Which doesn't sound better," she admits, frowning fiercely. "But I mean. . .doing it alone? I'm just. . .so lucky I have you. That you stayed, that you wanted us both. You didn't have to be such a good man, but you are."

His eyes have gone from flat to filled, and he clears his throat with a self-deprecating little laugh. "Well. . .I. . .don't know what to say."

"Nothing *to* say. It just hit me how much you had to do alone, how for so long you didn't have a partner, Castle. And it makes me grateful that we do this together."

He clears his throat again, nods at her. "Yeah. Yeah, you and me both."


	91. Chapter 91

Castle watches his wife cradle their son against her chest, both of them looking a little worn out after that battle royale through the living room and kitchen. Kate has moved back to the overstuffed armchair, her neck curved over the arm, head propped up, with her feet slung over the other arm. She looks like a model in a perfume commercial, even with the sticky motrin stains along her tshirt and the sweaty boy clinging to her. At any moment, he expects her perfect, chiseled husband in the unbuttoned white beach shirt to play peek-a-boo with her from behind the chair.

He smirks to himself. But really.

She's really amazingly beautiful. It hurts sometimes to see her. He thought she was hot when he first met her, all prickly sexual energy and badass mistress dominance. And yet, as that first case unraveled and he found this abandoned little girl instead, upset by the way he so easily knocked her off-balance, but refusing to be knocked down. She'd played his game, and had actually listened, and then she'd one-upped him and walked away.

How he managed to keep her, he still doesn't know. A quick call to the mayor, some serious campaign promises, and he was her permanent shadow.

She was arresting then, in more ways than one. Literally and figuratively. The writer in him smirks at that too. But she was. Arresting. Noticeable. Gorgeous, sure. He'd gotten to see all the little pieces of Beckett that make up Kate. He gathered them, he brought them together, one by one, until the mosaic fit. Still, she surprises him, still she peels away another piece he's never seen. And when she does, that beauty just burns in her.

Her beauty has come about because he's gotten to know her, deep down know her. She was always gorgeous, but this almost unbearable beauty? Because when he looks at the straight lines of her body, he sees more than the pieces, he sees the sum of their parts. When her hair catches the lights of a never-sleeping city, it's more than the shine or the sweep of it, but it has something to do with knowing how it looks on his pillow and remembering the way it feels when he brings her in close. When her eyes lock with his, it's not just the rich color and the exotic shape, and the touch of her lashes, it's also the history between them, and they way his memory supplies all the wordless meanings she can convey with her eyes: _you're my only back-up; you saved my life; look what you've made me; I can't do it; I love you._

And so his wife, shirt stained with medicine and tears and snot, head tilted back over the armrest, a hand cupped at his son's skull, toes cracking as she pops them against the side of the chair, his _wife_, his wife is beautiful.

They're both watching the Oakland A's baseball game; Dashiell watches sleepily from one eye, the other smashed against Kate's chest, his cheek squeezed so that his lips pop open. Castle can see his drool from here. He also sees Kate occasionally swipe at her neck and chest to sling it off. It's amusing because he's not the one getting drooled on.

Her left eye has that spot just below the line of her bottom lid, a beauty mark or darkened freckle. Sometimes her eyeliner is thick enough to swallow it up; he loves the way she frames her eyes, a different look for each occasion. He notices because he's trained to notice, and because she's so purposefully careful about looking just right. Today though, he can see that mark, like something too rich, too gorgeous in her pupil has leaked out and dripped down her lashes.

He wants to put his lips there. He wants to brush the tip of his thumb across it and feel the feather of her lashes on his skin.

If he had to do without that, if he was forced to not have the next forty years of Kate's irregular, expressive eyes, and her limbs slung over the furniture, and her hands cradling their children, he's not sure he can live.

But she's waiting on him to have that conversation. And he knows he's not really changing his mind, he's just reorganizing his fears.

"Still want another one?" he asks, hoping to gently brook the conversation.

Kate turns her head from the baseball game; he sees the tunnel recede from her eyes as she brings him, the room, the question into focus again. She smiles. "Yes."

He nods at that, can't think of what to say next.

"You're still not okay with that," she says, stroking a finger gently along Dashiell's ear. Round and around.

"I'll get there."

"We've got time," she says gently.

Except that's kind of the crux of it. "We really. . .don't."

She lifts both eyebrows, inviting him to continue. Her head is craned to look at him from the armrest of the chair while he's sprawled out on the couch. Dashiell has finally, it seems, closed both eyes while he lays on her chest, almost asleep.

"It's hypocritical of me to not want you to put yourself in danger by getting pregnant, when I'm perfectly fine with you going off to work every morning," he tries, shrugging at her.

She smirks. "Perfectly fine?"

He sighs. "Mostly fine. But that's because I wish I were there, as if that could stop things, change things, but I know your stubbornness, Beckett, and I have no doubt, every day, that you're coming back to me."

Her face washes in that peculiar, orphan grief she still carries. "But I might not."

Castle swallows thickly and sits up, feels like this is getting too difficult a conversation to merely lay down for. "You might not." He hates to acknowledge it, feels, absurdly, like it's inviting fate or God or the devil to tempt them both, see how far they can be pushed without breaking.

He glances up at her and sees that Kate's curled her head down to meet Dashiell's, as if to protect him from that possible future.

"So. Uh, I let you do your job. . .my bad," he hastily amends, holding up a hand as she takes offense at the word _let_. "I'm okay with you risking your life every day because I know you need to do it, because you're more than capable. I know that being a detective is what you are, and I don't want anything less from you than, well, you."

If she knew that her gratitude fairly leaked out of her eyes like that, she'd rearrange her facial features, stat. As it is, Castle just soaks it in, wonders how many men before him didn't get it, didn't like it, thought it was too much. And he hates them, all of them, for not loving her enough, even though it would mean he wouldn't have any of this.

The paradox of love.

"And that's just your job," he says after a moment, when he's sure he can speak without his voice breaking. "Just a job. And I'm okay with that. So. . .why I am not okay with making you happy? Giving you the one thing you've ever asked of me?"

She shakes her head at him, lifts in the chair like she wants to move towards him, but Dashiell is asleep, and she struggles a moment, like she's debating dumping the kid off anyway. In the end, she just shifts in the chair so she's sitting upright, the boy's weight making her tshirt dip.

"Castle, I've asked for plenty. You've given me more than enough."

He huffs a laugh at that, hangs his head for a second to keep back the intensity of his feelings. Keep it back, down. He can't let himself get washed away in it, not yet. "You don't ask for much, Kate."

"I'm not asking for this either," she says. "Just. . .putting it out there."

But he knows the truth. He saw it in her face when she asked, somewhere below the teasing and the arousal. He owes her. "And I'm. . .letting it stay out there."

"But Dr. Glazer?"

"I called him when I was out. Getting the motrin." He lifts his head and catches the stunned look on her face, can't help be proud of putting it there, of surprising her for a change.

"You what?"

"I have a consult appointment with him next week. Soonest they could get me in."

She blinks, then wraps her arms around Dash and gets to her feet. He sees her hesitate at the chair for just a second before easing the boy onto the still-warm seat, and then she slips quietly next to him on the couch, settles in close.

"Castle."

He wraps his fingers around the hand that snakes around his arm, feels the tightness in his chest ease a little at the contact. He's impressed, because she knew to do it, knew he needed it, and then she came over and did it, sat with him and touched him, like it wasn't any big concession for her at all.

"Rick," she says again, and this time she has his attention. "Why are you doing this?"

He's learned a lot too, in the last two years. More than he ever learned sitting in a chair beside her desk. As he should, since now he's got more than just front-row seats for her life, he's in it. He's got a supporting role. No. A starring role, as crazy as that sounds.

And being in her life has taught him more than a little about what Kate Beckett needs. So he abandons the emotional argument and goes straight to the logic.

"Two reasons," he starts, clearing his throat when the emotion of it all still gets to him. "One. You already risk your life, so what's once more? That sounds callous, but it's the truth. And it's not a judgment, because before Dash came along, I was doing the same thing, right there with you, with even less reason to be there. Except maybe I was madly in love with you and didn't know how else to. . .to cope with that feeling."

She sighs next to him, but he doesn't want to look.

"And two? Kate. . .the first time around. . ." Here he has to stop, because keeping emotion out of it just isn't possible. He glances at his son, his amazing, beautiful, irritating, wild son, asleep now in the chair. "God, Kate, the first time around was hell."

"I don't remember it, Castle. Any of it. So it doesn't hold the same meaning for me."

He shakes his head. "I don't mean the. . .the almost dying part," he grunts. "I mean. The whole thing. Not knowing. Not ever really being sure you. . .you wanted him. . .Or me."

"I'm sorry," she says, and he hears the brokenness in her voice and hates himself for it.

"Me too." What can he say? That it's not her fault? Because it is. It's just that it doesn't matter anymore. "That part really isn't the point. The point is, the first time wasn't fun for either of us. So I. . .I would *love* to see your face when you tell me you're pregnant, and this time, for it to mean for you what it meant for me."

He turns his head to her, mans up and looks at her finally, and feels his breath rush out as the tears slide down her cheeks. Fast, quick tears that she doesn't even try to hide from him, just blinks through.

She sucks in a ragged breath; she's chewing on her lip and clutching his arm so tightly he's going to have bruises. "I am _so_ sorry."

He tries to wave it off, but she brings up her other hand and captures his, her eyes fierce and loyal and a little broken, but mending, rebuilding. Stronger than ever. "Just forgive me, Castle, and let us move on."

He can't help the laugh that bursts out, and she's smiling back at him too, but it's that closed-lip smile that doesn't reach all the way down. "Forgiven, Kate. But it's, really. It's not-"

She brings her fingers up to his mouth and the shock of that gesture, of her careless intimacy, stuns him into silence.

"I will make that up to you," she swears.

"I don't need it. But I think you do," he says, bringing her fingers away from his mouth. "That's what I was trying to say. I want to make it up to you, Kate. Not make it up to me. I want to show you how amazing it can be, how it takes your breath away, how you can float around for weeks on the idea that you're gonna have this whole new little thing-"

She laughs and crashes into the side of his neck, her cheeks wet against his skin, her laughter light and breathless with a soul-deep pain. He knows that laugh, has heard it in his own, and has heard it in her. Mirthless, but exhausted, relieved.

"That's why, Kate. For you."

She shakes her head into his neck, lifts long enough to spear him with one of her all too knowing gazes. "For both of us, maybe then, Castle. For now? You can see Dr. Glazer if you want to. But we'll wait, all right? We'll wait."

Some of the terrible cramped feeling goes out of him, and he straightens his shoulders as she smiles too tenderly at him. Too gentle. Too caring. When did she start letting him see this softness, this need all the time?

He saw it when they made love, and when she held Dash for the first time, but those are stand-outs in his memory. Yet, he thinks he's seen it nearly every day this week so far. Every day. How did this happen?

"Okay," he agrees, then leans over her to snag her bottom lip from her gnawing teeth, using his own to take it, then soothing her mouth with his tongue, his heat, his relief.

She rises into him, filling his arms like bread left on the windowsill, rich and good and right. Castle tastes her, she gives it to him slowly, no longer teasing, just open and bare before him. He shivers with it, breaks free from it to gaze at her, stunned again.

"But I do, Kate," he says, knowing even as he says it that it doesn't make sense, that it's in the middle of concepts he's not even thought all the way through yet. "I want very badly for you to know how happy it makes me, how it fills me up, and I can't, can't figure out how else to give you that except. . .yes, yes let's do this again."

She doesn't laugh, doesn't say no, doesn't do anything but breathe, a little raggedly, in his arms. She watches him.

"And that's not just for you, that's for me too," he adds.

She's still watching him, as if expecting more. Or less.

"Oh, Kate, I want so badly to give you a little girl," he finally says, and maybe it's the most true thing he's said all afternoon.


	92. Chapter 92

Kate checks the time and glances down at her son. Dash is drowsing again, mostly dozing off and on as the fever fluctuates. His mouth is open, a round, red rosebud against the pale skin of his cheeks. His dark lashes float up, his eyes watch the television for a moment, and then they sink back down again.

She imagines a little girl with those same beautiful lashes, wonders if she'd get Castle's crinkling, blue eyes. She tries not to think about it, but this is the time the idea of another one is most appealing: when Dashiell is quiet and beautiful and they're alone without any trouble. She kisses the top of his head, runs her fingers over his cheek.

Castle comes back at that moment with dinner, dropping his keys noisily into the bowl, scuffing off his shoes, balancing paper bags. She can smell the Chinese takeout from the couch, and she lifts her head to catch his eyes, gesturing towards their son.

He pauses in the entry, then creeps to the kitchen with exaggerated care, his socks soundless on the hardwood. He opens the cabinets and pulls out plates, but he still makes clinking noises, still can't help being disruptive.

Dashiell raises his head and grunts at her, blinking his sleepy, fever-red eyes. "Momma," he mutters, as if asking a question and also expressing his unhappiness.

"Hey baby, Daddy got dinner. You hungry, little man?"

Dashiell pushes up against her, craning his neck to see over the couch, so Kate abandons the television and stands up, cradling him against her chest. Rick takes him when she gets to the kitchen, his large palms dwarfing the boy's back.

"Feel bad, buddy?" Rick hums at him as Dashiell buries his face into his father's neck, squirming for a comfortable position.

Kate shakes her arms out, tries to get the blood flowing back into her shoulder where the boy was laying all afternoon, tilts her neck to work out the kinks. Castle gestures to the food with a hand. "Have at it."

"Do I smell mu shu pork?"

"Course."

"God bless you," she murmurs and raises onto her toes to kiss his cheek, right under his eye, brushing her hand through his hair.

She's not sure why she did it (could be that cuddling on the couch with her sick son has started it), or what created the impulse (could be that he's feeding her), but the look of pleased surprise on his face makes her glad she did it. Kate turns away from him and opens up the bags of food, taking out cartons of lo mein, mu shu pork, kung pao chicken, and finally, ginger beef. Castle always gets the same few selections, for her sake, and then adds a couple of strange, exotic ones, depending on where he goes.

Tonight, ginger beef. She's never had it before, and because she's trying to be better about this, about everything in general, Kate digs a spoon into it and puts some on her plate.

"Ginger beef is great; you'll love it. I promise."

"I'm trusting you on this," she warns, waving a spoon at him.

Castle turns back to the silverware drawer and gets out more serving spoons, adding them to the cartons left on the table. "When have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Oh, how soon they forget," she chides, heaping lo mein onto her plate. "What about that Ethiopian place?"

"It was good!"

"It was. . ." Kate trails off, shrugs as she turns to look at him. "I liked the flatbread tortilla thing it came on. What's that called?"

"Injera. What about the boiled egg? You ate that too."

"I did. And I liked the cottage cheese and yogurt combo thing."

"Uh...iab I think it's called. But you didn't like the doro wat; I do remember that now."

"Just. . .not my thing." The duro wat is a chicken stew that just. . .didn't taste right to her. She's never been all that picky about her food, it's just that she doesn't often get out there to try new things. Which Castle told her was a crime when she lived in a place as ethnically diverse as New York City.

She has to give him that. With her plate filled, she grabs a glass and fills it with water from the door of the fridge, nodding her head at Dash. "Want me to take him so you can get your food?"

"Naw, I got him. Go ahead and sit down."

She shrugs and heads past him for the couch, putting her plate on the coffee table, sipping her water. She's still damp from holding the boy all afternoon, and she'd like to get another shower, but it can wait. The television is playing Thomas the Train, so she stops it and scrolls through the list of recorded shows.

Sadly enough, it's mostly PBS Kids and Noggin, all stuff for Dashiell. She switches to live tv and hunts around through the schedule for awhile, but can't find anything interesting. Castle comes back to the couch, a plate in one hand, Dashiell in his other arm.

"Did you have a glass?" she asks, standing up and grabbing his plate before he spills it.

"Uh. . .nope. Forgot."

"Want water?"

"Sure. With ice."

"Yeah, find something to watch," she instructs, leaving the remote with him.

On her way back to the kitchen, she hears her phone ringing from the bedroom; it's her father's ringtone. She hesitates at the kitchen counter.

"Get your phone. I'll get my water," Castle says, standing up from the couch.

She runs back to their bedroom and snatches her phone off the bedside table, breathless when she answers.

"Hello."

"Hey, Katie, it's Dad."

"Yeah, Dad, good to hear from you. How's Alaska?"

"Gorgeous. Cold. The fishing is amazing; it's cold and beautiful and sharp, and we clean the fish right on the bank of the river and then cook it on the fire."

"That sounds good." She smiles at the thought of her father fishing the Alaskan rivers.

"I got your voicemail. We just got cell phone service again. How was everything at West Park?"

"Oh, it's a great place, Dad. I love it." She sighs and sinks down onto the bed. "I kinda. . .blindsided Rick with it-"

"He didn't know you'd set up the appointment?"

"Well, no, I. . .he knew. We went today and looked around. I told him it was just to look. But I guess I just. . .wanted to get it done before I go back to work tomorrow, and I signed him up. Dash. He'll be there next week."

"Oh. You didn't talk to Rick about it first?"

"I just wanted to get it done, fix the problem. But I realize just jumping in like that was. . .kinda. . ."

"Stupid, Katie. It was kinda stupid. Your mother did the same to me."

She laughs and flops back on the bed. She's always had a great father. Even when he was drinking, it was like he had just slipped into okay, and then into not-so-okay, while she still held the memory of her great father. Just how that works sometimes. But within the last few years, after getting his life back together, her dad has also somehow filled the role of her mom as well.

To be honest, it started when she got pregnant. She had so many questions, so many unknowns, that she wasn't sure she could do it. And talking with her father had made things seem workable, had made her believe that starting a family with Castle wasn't just possible, but was actually rather inevitable.

"Katie? Not to be too harsh, but you've got to make those decisions together."

"Yeah, you're right. I figured that out. We had a fight," she says softly, curling onto her side and pulling her knees up. She wonders if she'd be talking to her mom like this too. Her mom was the one to say 'I told you so,' her mom was the one who talked straight, blunt, never pulled any punches. Yeah, her mom would've said it was stupid too.

"Still fighting?"

"No. Mostly resolved. I think. . .I think this past week has been good for us. Rick told you I took time off so he could finish his book?"

"Yeah. Shocked the hell outta me," he laughs. "But that was a good thing."

"Yeah, shocked me too. It's been difficult. I've had to realize that I've been a pretty crappy wife and mother. I don't know that I really liked my son all that much, before this week."

"Katie," he chides.

"No, it's true. I'm trying to be honest with myself. It doesn't do either of them any good to keep lying about it, Dad. I couldn't control Dash; I didn't feel like he listened to me. And he's just, so wild. He's a runner; everything requires full-tilt speed, racing into everything. I mean, I love him, don't get me wrong. But this week, I really started to *like* him too."

"Well, I guess I don't know what to say to that. You were such an easy baby, your mom and I never had that trouble. But I think you're being too hard on yourself, Katie. You're a beautiful mother, and I know Rick loves you."

Her father is always going to defend her. "Thanks, Dad. But Rick and I had to clear out a lot of the crap going on between us, and we did, I think. I think we did. I'm actually dreading going back to work."

"Why's that?"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to make it stick. I've made these promises to Rick, to myself, and I just want to be able to hold on to them."

"You will, sweetheart. You, of all people, can be stubborn when you want something. You'll hold onto this like you've held onto everything else. I don't doubt it."

She smiles softly, staring into space and feeling her father's love and encouragement spilling over the line. "Thanks, Dad."

"Did you. . .happen to talk to Martha?"

She sucks in a deep breath. "How'd you. . .you knew that was going on?"

"I was there at Christmas, sweetheart. And I could tell by the things Rick wouldn't say."

"Oh crap. I've really been a bitch about it."

"Did you talk with her?"

"Yeah. I think we're good. It was my fault, and I just couldn't see it."

"Well, Katie, that's not what matters now. You know how I feel about it, and the problems you and I have had to go through. Just make sure you're not driving a wedge between Martha and her son."

"I know, Dad. I know. I'm trying."

"Good. Sorry, sweetheart. When we haven't talked for a while, I forget you're an adult who can take care of her own problems without me telling you what to do."

She laughs and rolls onto her stomach, propping her head up on her elbows as she listens to the rich timber of his voice. "I don't care how old I am, Dad, you are always welcome to tell me when I'm wrong. Doesn't mean I'll always listen, but-"

"Yeah, yeah. Some things never change."

"Dad, before you go-"

"What is it?"

She can hear people in the background now, realizes he's probably at a train depot somewhere getting ready to board again, be carted off into the great wide wilderness of Alaska for another trek to a remote fishing spot.

"I wanted to ask you about West Park."

"Yeah?"

"You said. . .you told Rick there was a woman?"

She can hear his intake of breath, the catch in his voice when he answers. "Ah. I hadn't thought of it like that, Katie. I'm sorry. I might have kept that to myself."

But she doesn't want him to have to keep things to himself; she wants him to feel comfortable sharing with her how far he's managed to come since her mother's death. She knows, intellectually, that people can survive the loss of a spouse, that they can come out the other side and even fall in love again, remake their life. It's just been. . .difficult to know that with her heart, especially where her own parents are concerned.

"Dad." She licks her lips and hangs her head, tries to come up with the right words. "I don't want you to keep it to yourself."

"Katie-"

"I mean it," she says softly. "I haven't worked mom's case since. . .since before Dash was born. You know that, right?"

"No, I didn't know that," he says back, and she can hear the sorrow in his voice. Only now, she realizes that her father grieves for her, for Kate, and not for her mother. Not like that. Not any more.

"All the files, the reports, everything. . .it's been in a box in my old apartment ever since. At the time, it wasn't a conscious choice, to stop. It just. . .happened. Life happened. Like it should've happened ten years ago."

"Katie, no one grieves the same way. You take as long as you need to. I wasn't going to parade my happiness around in front of you, until you were-"

"Are you happy?" she exclaims, startled, relieved, struck. "Dad, are you happy with her?"

"Katie."

"No, I'm. . .I want to know. I need to know. It makes it easier, if we do it together." She's not sure he can understand what she means by this; she's not the writer. She doesn't have the words to explain. The burden of forgetting is shared, isn't it?, when they both move on.

Move on. Has she moved on from her mother's death? Not. . .not so that her psyche would notice. There still remains a gap where her mother should've been. But she's not living in that gap anymore, not dwelling there. As apparently her father stopped doing the moment he got sober.

She knows that she's got to explain, somehow. "Dad. I keep forgetting what she looks like."

"Oh, Katie," he says gently. She's struck again with how her father grieves for her, for the way Kate misses her mother.

"I still have the smile memorized, burned into my brain because I've looked at her picture for so long. But when I'm really tired, or when I wake up in the middle of the night, I can't picture her face any more."

"It's scares you, doesn't it?" Her father's voice is rough, and she knows it's because he understands.

"It does. But when I'm curled on the couch with Dashiell, and I'm happy, when Rick comes in to the room and he smiles, I have this moment of perfect clarity, and I can remember every detail, Dad. I can remember her face."

Her father clears his throat. "Good. That's good."

"Do you. . .are you serious about her?" she asks, biting her lower lip.

Her father sighs. "We're at the beginning of something, Katie. I don't know what. I just know that it feels right to have a companion on the journey again."

She blinks back tears, struggles to breathe through the thickening in her chest. "Yeah."

"I think you know what I mean," her father says. "But I've got to go. My train arrives in a minute and I've got to get the luggage-"

"Okay, Dad. Yeah. Call me later, will ya?" She thinks there's probably more they should say; she should ask him about this woman, listen as he raves about her. She can't do that today; she'll have to prepare herself for that, but she knows soon. Soon she will.

"I will, sweetie. And next time, I want to talk to my grandson-"

"Oh yeah. He's got a fever today. He's conked out on top of Rick right now," she adds. "But he'll be fine. Talk to you soon."

"Oh, give him a kiss from Papa. Love you, Katie."

"I love you too Dad." And he's already gone. Off to catch his train and fish, and then clean them on the side of the bank.

* * *

><p>When she comes out of the bedroom, the television is showing Star Wars. She laughs, grateful for the way it pushes back that uneasy feeling, tosses her phone onto the coffee table by her plate. Dashiell looks up at the noise, and Kate winces.<p>

Castle gives her a look. "How'd that go?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. He said he didn't think about it beforehand, but he felt like he should've kept it from me. I don't want him to feel like he has to keep his happiness from me." She slumps down onto the couch.

Castle lifts his eyebrows and raises his arm, pulls her against his side. She goes, just because she misses her father and her dad gave the best hugs, second only to Castle's. Of course, Castle's hugs are the best for an entirely different reason.

"You know he just wants to protect you, like any dad would," he says. "And your history is complicated by a lot of things, Kate. Not just your mom's death."

She nods against him. "More than I realized."

"Dash is getting warm again," he says, changing the subject. She's grateful for that too, because she still doesn't love the idea of her father with another woman (she's not *another* woman; he has every right to meet someone).

She brushes the back of her fingers against Dashiell's forehead. "How long has it been since we gave him that motrin?"

"Almost four hours."

"I guess he'll need another dose," she says, grimacing. "I am seriously not looking forward to that. Can we somehow trick him into taking it?"

Dash seems to sense he's being talked about because he lifts his head from Castle's chest and opens his eyes, looking at his mother with absolute misery in those dark round depths. Her heart clenching, Kate leans in and cups the back of his head, brushes soft kisses on his cheeks, smooths the hair at his neck with her fingers. "Hey, baby."

"Mix it in his juice?" Castle murmurs. "Maybe. Hadn't thought of that."

"Momma," Dash whines, holding out a hand to her.

Kate slides closer and lifts Dashiell from his father's arms, holds him up for a moment to get a good look at him. His cheeks are red, his eyes bright, and his body is like a furnace. "Dash, honey, would you take some more medicine for me?"

Dash whines again and curls towards her, so she puts him against her chest and rubs his back. "It will be over fast, I promise. Just one little dose."

"I'll go get it," Castle says. "Stay here."

She glances longingly at her dinner, but Dash is wriggling around against her, as if trying to escape his own body heat.

"Okay, baby, I know. You just need some more medicine and you'll feel better. Remember? We watched baseball and Thomas and you felt better?"

"No, no, Momma," he moans.

"Yeah, baby. Just a little bit more. You need to be a good boy for me, okay? Be a good boy and take some medicine."

Castle comes back with the oral syringe, sits down on the couch. "Here? Or in the kitchen?"

Kate maneuvers Dashiell onto his back, cradling him like a baby, and takes the motrin from Castle. "In here. He'll be good this time, won't you, Dash? The medicine will make you cool off. Make you feel so much better."

She bites her lower lip as she brings the syringe closer, bracing herself for violent thrashing and being very sorry she started this. But Dashiell only squirms and squeezes his eyes closed, purses his mouth, and doesn't try to get away.

She wriggles the syringe between his lips, trying not to jab him with it. "Come on, baby. Open up. Just a little bit and then Daddy can get you milk or juice or whatever you want. Wash the taste out."

Dashiell whines, but it makes his mouth open, and she slips it in, slowly squeezing the syringe until all of the medicine is gone. Dashiell grimaces and squirms, but he doesn't gag and he doesn't try to escape. He chokes on it a few times, but he gets it down. She smiles at him, uses his shirt to wipe his mouth as she removes the syringe. Immediately, Dash launches himself into Kate's arms, tears pouring down his face.

She laughs - she can't help it - and strokes his back as he sobs into her shoulder. "Oh, you did so good, baby. Daddy's getting you some juice-"

Castle jumps up, takes the syringe from her, and heads into the kitchen.

"It will wash away the bad taste. You did such a good job, Dash. What a big boy."

"Bit boy," he repeats, mumbling against her and sucking in another lungful air to give her a few more pathetic, whimpering cries. It's moved from real tears to dramatic tears now, and she smiles as Castle comes back with the sippy cup of juice.

"You Castles," she says, grinning at him. "Everything is a production, isn't it?"

"Oh definitely. And it works, doesn't it? We get your attention. A beautiful woman's shoulder to cry on."

She laughs, rolling her eyes at him.

Castle holds out the cup. "Hey, Dash, want some juice?"

The boy turns in Kate's arms and grabs it, shoves it into his mouth to suck it down greedily. He leans back against her chest and watches his father for a moment while he drinks, then hands it back.

Castle rattles it, gives her a surprised look. "Oh yeah, guess you were thirsty, huh, buddy? Want more?"

"Mo-" he garbles, turning to rub his face into Kate's shirt. She runs her fingers through his curls, blows on his neck to cool him off.

"I'll get you more." Castle disappears again.

Kate still runs her fingers through Dash's curls, putting her nose to his head. He smells sick, like medicine and sweat, but his little heart beats as fast as a bird's against her, his breathing regular. He seems to be recovering from the trauma of taking his medicine.

Castle returns with juice but when Dash takes the cup, he just curls up with it against Kate's chest, tries to get comfortable. After a few seconds of squirming, he gives up and turns back to his dad, lunging for Castle's broader shoulders.

Rick catches him before he can flip out of Kate's arms, gathers him up. Dashiell takes a moment to wriggle around before he sighs and closes his eyes, apparently content now.

Kate leans forward and eagerly grabs her plate, smiling as Castle looks at her longingly.

"If you were nice, you'd feed me," he pouts.

"I don't think you could handle me feeding you," she retorts, shoving a huge bite of ginger beef in her mouth. She closes her eyes and groans at the taste, just to mess with him.

"Tease," he hisses.

She pops open her eyes and laughs. "Yum, sooo good. Sorry you're stuck with the kid. Sucks to be the one he loves more."

Castle laughs and shakes his head at her. "That's all kinds of wrong, Kate."

She shrugs and shovels another bite in her mouth. "I don't care so long as it means I get to eat. I'm starving. I've been starving."

Castle opens his mouth to reply, but just then a key scrapes in the lock and the door opens. Alexis stumbles into the foyer, drops a couple of bags at her feet, pulls in her suitcase after her, and sets her jaw.

"I'm moving back in."


	93. Chapter 93

After Alexis takes her suitcase and clomps her way upstairs, Kate glances at her half eaten dinner and sighs. She sets it back on the coffee table and stands up. When Castle, who had been staring dazedly at the door, makes a move to stop her, Kate shoos him away.

"You keep the little kid. I'll take the big kid," Kate says, shuffling past his feet.

Dashiell stirs and whimpers for mommy, but Kate drops a hand to his head, smooths his curls as she passes. "Even when you're sick, still gotta share."

On her way, she snags a duffle bag Alexis left in the foyer; clearly an open invitation to follow the young woman to her room, if ever Kate saw one. Once upstairs, Kate can hear Alexis loudly yanking drawers out of her dresser, slamming them back in. She doesn't tap on the door, she just walks right in, drops the duffle bag at the foot of Alexis's bed.

The girl hides her face, but not before Kate sees her tears.

"Want help unpacking?" Kate asks.

Alexis jerks to a stop and takes a great gulping breath, swiping at her cheeks, standing in the middle of her room, looking as forlorn as a little girl who's dog has just died.

"Alexis, I'm out of ideas for nicknames, sweetheart, but this is where I'd use one."

The girl's head jerks up, meets Kate's gaze with swimming eyes, her lips curling as she fights tears. "I could. . .use a hug instead."

Kate berates herself for not thinking of that first and hurries over to Alexis, wraps her up in a tight hug, the kind of hug Castle gives. She feels the girl's arms slide around her waist, her tears start fresh, sobbing.

After a few moments of that, Kate tries to gently pry at Alexis's mood. "So. . .what's going on, Alexis?"

"My life is just a mess," she stutters out, trying to talk through her tears.

"A mess?"

"A total wreck. I'm a wreck; I don't even know what's going on in my head anymore."

"What happened?"

Alexis drops her arms and shuffles back, sits down heavily on her empty desk. "What didn't happen? Everything went wrong. I went to my classes today, but I met Lofton for coffee at the Student Union after-"

"Oh." Kate gives her a hesitant smile. "That's good, right?"

"It was good, and then it wasn't," Alexis moans, rubbing at her eyes. "He walked me back to the dorm, and we just stood talking for like an hour outside. A couple of times, guys from my study group-"

"The pot-smoking study group?" Kate raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, that one." But instead of that shy chagrin Kate was expecting, she gets fresh tears. Alexis swipes at her face even as the tears fall, then gives up and uses her sleeve to wipe her eyes, her nose. "I hate them. I wish I'd never gone potluck in the dorms and gotten assigned there. I wish I'd never agreed to that stupid study group. Everything is so messed up-"

Kate tries to smother her impatience with a gentle nudge. "What happened, Alexis?"

"Lofton knew a couple of those guys. And one of them, Marcus, stopped outside and asked me if I was on for study group tonight. And see, I hadn't yet figured out how to do this, I mean, I like study group and they're my friends, so I was just going to see how it went-"

"Oh, Alexis-"

"I wouldn't have smoked. I wouldn't. But that's not the issue. Lofton knew those guys. And after Marcus went inside, Lofton started acting weird, stopped talking so much. Until I finally called him on it. And he said-" Alexis gulps and presses the heel of her hand into one eye, looking at Kate mournfully from the other one. "And he said - he said he couldn't hang out with me anymore."

"What? Why?" Kate's surprised by how much she wants to hunt down this Lofton kid right about now. Or have a coldly calculating conversation with the boy in Interrogation 2.

"He told me that he had a drug problem in high school. But he's been clean for two years now, and one of the ways he stays clean is by being really careful about who his friends are. Lofton said that he knew what those guys did, and if I was hanging out with them, he couldn't hang out with me. He said I was really cool, and I had a cool fam-family, but he had to keep himself clean, and it was too dangerous for him to be with me."

Kate is too stunned to know what to say. Because honestly, Lofton is showing some remarkable maturity for a kid his age, and she halfway agrees with him, especially if the guy thinks he might be susceptible to peer pressure from his (almost) girlfriend's group. Takes guts to tell a pretty girl something like that.

"Oh," Kate says finally, chewing on her bottom lip.

Alexis starts crying again, but this time, it's a quieter sound, a little more desperate. "The worst part is. . .I told him I wasn't doing that anymore, that I was good. I told him it was just some pot, it's not like I'm addicted, and he said he couldn't take the chance. He said, when it comes down to it, he doesn't really know me."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Alexis."

"But the stupid thing? The really stupid thing is I agree with him. I think he's probably right. It would be a bad idea for us to go out, to date, because the people in that study group are my friends, they really are-"

Kate doesn't think so, but she'll let that slide for now.

"-and this is the exact same stupid thing that Ashley and I broke up over. So now that's two guys, and Ashley is right."

Well, that's new. Kate distinctly remembers Alexis telling her that she just didn't love Ashley like that anymore. So what is this?

"But now, Kate, all I want to do is call him and talk to him because he knows me, he knows I'm not like that, he knows the real me, but he's still mad at me for breaking up with him, and I don't know what to do because he was right in the first place, I shouldn't have been hanging out with these guys-"

"Wait. Ashley told you not to hang out with these guys?" This is also new. And Ashley's stock just went way up.

"Yeah, we fought all the time about it. His friends treat me like crap, so when he started ragging on me about my friends, it just. . .it was just too much."

And again, this is stuff Kate has never heard. She doesn't think Castle knew this was going on either. "Ashley's friends treat you like crap? Then why is Ashley still friends with them?"

"Exactly! That's exactly what I said to him! If his friends treat me so badly, why is he friends with them?"

"How do they treat you? Does he just not see it?"

Alexis rubs at her eyes again. "He says I'm making something out of nothing. But it's. . ." Alexis suddenly won't meet her eyes. "It's not. . .I dealt with it."

"Alexis," Kate says carefully, sitting on the edge of the girl's bed. "What did you deal with?"

"They were just. . .jealous I think. They said I was spoiled. A rich brat. That I didn't have any idea how real people lived."

Oh. Well. Kate sighs, rubbing her forehead. "And. . ."

"And nothing."

"I don't think it's okay for Ashley's friends to treat you like that and for Ashley to defend them."

"But, Kate, his friends don't smoke pot, do they? His friends didn't just drive away a guy I really, really liked. Ashley knew better, and he was right, and that sucks, but I wish. . .I wish I could just call him. You know?"

No. She doesn't. Call who? "Call. . .Lofton?"

"No! Ashley. Is that wrong? Do you think it would be bad to call Ashley and just, you know, confess to him that he was right? I mean, I'll probably have to sit through a ton of I told you sos, but it's almost worth it. Because Ashley knows that isn't me, that I don't. . .I'm not the kind of girl who would be dangerous. Am I dangerous?"

Kate sighs, stands again to gather Alexis back up into a hug. This seems her only real recourse. "No, Alexis, you're not dangerous."

"I think I might love him, Kate," she says softly, her voice muffled in Kate's shirt.

"Lofton?"

"No. Ashley."

Oh. Oh, that's what this is about. Alexis has discovered that the crux of her and Ashley's break-up was really the friends they were choosing and not so much whether or not they were still in love. Kate rubs her hand up and down Alexis's back, but she doesn't say anything. There's nothing she can say; only Alexis knows what's going on in her own heart.

"My life is such a mess. I don't want to stay at the dorm anymore, not when everywhere I look, I see the same group of friends who just. . .ruined my relationship with my boyfriend, and totally blocked a possible relationship with another guy I liked. . .not to mention got me in so much trouble the other night at that stupid, stupid party."

"Yeah, I think maybe you have those in the wrong order of importance there, Alexis. The stupid, stupid mistake you made at that party is definitely at the top of the list of reasons why that study group is no good for you."

Alexis snorts on a laugh and raises her head. "Thanks."

"For what? I'm not sure I did anything," Kate admits, shrugging.

"Listening, I guess. Do you think it's. . .wrong to call Ashley?"

Kate wrinkles her forehead and brushes a thumb over Alexis's still wet cheek. "Maybe you should let yourself have a little bit of time, Alexis. Give it a chance to settle. Unpack your stuff, then you can call him. If you still feel like you need to."

"Ashley was my best friend, Kate," she says softly. "And he still is, or well, I want him to be."

"Yeah, which is why you need to be fair to him and figure yourself out first."

Kate wonders if she's going to get struck with lightning for this latest advice, if maybe it counts in your favor that you've ended up married to your best friend anyway, and are now counseling that same best friend's daughter. Surely God lets you off on that one?

"Is that what Dad would say too?" Alexis whispers, biting her lip.

Kate's not sure if Alexis knows the ramifications of that question, but it does make Kate stop and think. Would Castle give her that same advice? Probably not. "I guess. . .I guess your dad is more likely to say to take a risk on love. That love is always worth it."

Alexis nods and slumps back down to her bed. Kate gestures to the open suitcase. "Need some help unpacking?"

"No. No, I'll do it. I think it'll give me a chance to. . .settle down, as you put it." Alexis wipes at the last of her tears. "And I might call him tonight."

Kate nods. "Okay. Are you going to be all right?"

Alexis nods again, lays down on her bed. "I'm worn out. And I don't even know what to say to Ashley." She sighs and starts to close her eyes, but then startles upright. "Oh. Wait. Is Dash okay?" Alexis gives Kate a concerned look. "I mean, he looked. . .sad when I came in. And he didn't even say hi. He always. . .kinda runs for me. I don't think I've ever seen him just laying down with you guys, not running around."

Kate's lips quirk and she leans over to kiss Alexis's forehead. "You're a good big sister."

Alexis is blushing as only a red-head can. "Is he okay?"

"He's got a fever, but we've given him some motrin. He'll be fine. You do what you need to do, okay? Unpack, call. Whatever you think is best."

"If I call him tonight, it's going to be nasty," Alexis mutters.

"Because of all those I told you sos?"

"Yeah. And because I feel like crying every time I think about what happened today. And what if this is just like rebound? Or something. What if I want Ashley backs because he *does* know me so well, and he's my friend, and I just miss my friend?"

Kate sighs. "I don't know, Alexis. Honestly. . .that's what kept me here, at the beginning."

Alexis lifts an eyebrow, interested now. "What kept you here?"

"Your dad is one of my best friends, and when I got pregnant. . .I needed my best friend. I needed him. And maybe all the other stuff was confused at the time, or I was confused, but what it came down to. . .I just couldn't do it without him. So I don't know what to tell you."

"Yeah. That just. . .doesn't really help. Now I think I should call him."

Kate gives her a shrug and a small smile which Alexis at least gives back. "Sorry. Need anything before I go back downstairs?"

"No." Alexis sighs and flops back down on the bed. "Well, take my cell phone, would ya, mom? I'm gonna break down and call him; I just know it."

Kate chuckles at her dramatics, but she scoops Alexis's cell phone off the bed and takes it back downstairs with her.

* * *

><p>About five minutes after Kate walks upstairs, her phone rings on the coffee table. Castle adjusts Dashiell so he can lean forward, his hand bracing the boy's back. It's Esposito, so he answers it.<p>

"Yo."

"Beckett's upstairs, Esposito."

"Aw, okay. Hey man, how's the little dude now?"

Now? "Kate tell you he had a fever?"

"Yeah, when I called."

"Ah." Castle glances over his shoulder but Kate's nowhere in sight. She's kept this from him. "Dash is asleep on my chest, fever's starting to come down I think. But, hey, Espo - what's going on over there?"

"I was just. . .gonna warn Beckett 'bout this case."

"Want me to tell her something specific?" He knows he's fishing for information, shamelessly too.

"Bro. Come on."

"It's not like you can't tell me-" At Esposito's silence, Castle's indignation rises hot in his chest. "Are you kidding me?"

"Ah. . ."

"She told you not to tell me?"

"Castle, she told *me* not to call, but I gotta get her a message."

"Then you can tell me what this is about."

"The case."

"Which one? The new one they tried to pull her back in for, or the one she was working on when she took time off?" Castle alternates between emotions, not sure which one he should settle on. Hurt seems to be winning out, as it usually does.

"Same one, Castle."

"Same? But she said there was a new body-"

"New body, same case."

Oh. He leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. "I'll tell her to come in."

"Yeah, thanks. It's just. . .sorry, Castle, but man, they're working up a team for this one. It's only two bodies, but the Captain's getting worried."

"Two bodies," he groans. "The first one was a girl. A little girl, Kate said."

"Yeah. Same for the second."

"Another little girl."

"Same m.o. Castle. Butchered."

Aw, shit, he's kept Beckett from a serial killer? "Yeah, I'll talk to Beckett."

"We're gonna be here all night. Tell her to call before she comes in."

"Yeah." Castle hangs up, drops the phone next to him on the couch. He wonders how many calls from the precinct Kate has had today, how many times she's ignored the summons.

He rubs a hand over his face, sighs. Dashiell shifts on his chest, and Castle drops his hand to the boy's back, rubbing slow circles.

This isn't what he wants for Kate. There should be a balance, not a wild swing between one or the other, family or work. They've got to figure this out. Tonight.

New body, same case. She's got to be chomping at the bit to get back to the 12th. Why hasn't she said anything to him?

Dashiell lifts his head from his father's chest, his mouth in a downward pout. "Momma?"

Castle sighs. Okay. So *this* is why. He gets it.

"Momma's upstairs. She'll be down in a minute, buddy."

How is he going to convince Kate to leave a sick little boy? Which is a switch, isn't it? A week ago, he would never have thought he'd be scheming ways to get Kate *back* to the precinct.


	94. Chapter 94

Kate returns and gives Castle a little grin. "She'll be ok. She's moving back in."

"You took her phone?"

She drops it next to her own phone on the coffee table and sinks down next to him. "No. She just doesn't. . .want to end up calling Ashley."

"Why?"

"It's a girl thing. But, guess what?"

"Honestly, Kate, I have no idea." He rubs at Dash's back with a hand, his face lined with a concern that looks too intense for a melodramatic exclamation from his daughter. So what's going on with him?

"They broke up over her friends. Her study group friends with the marijuana."

Castle cracks a grin. "Are you sure we can't meddle? Cause now I *really* want to get those two back together."

Kate smiles back, laying a hand on Dash's head to smooth his hair. "Might not even have to meddle, Castle."

"Ooh, seriously?" Castle glances up the stairs, then back to the phone. "Ah, that's why she had you take her phone away? So she doesn't call him. I got it now."

She grins and leans her head against his shoulder so she see Dashiell's face, his eyes are open and watching her. "Hey, baby." She brushes a thumb down his cheek.

"Speaking of phone calls," Castle starts.

"Hm?"

"Esposito called. They need you at the 12th; they're putting together a task force for this case."

Kate sits up and frowns at her phone. "I already told him I'm not coming in."

"Kate," he chides.

She turns surprised eyes to him. "Castle." Indignant.

"You need to go, Kate. This isn't what I meant before."

She crosses her arms. "Well, this is what *I* meant. My first real test and you're telling me to go back? To give in?"

"No. You've been off a week with me; you let me catch up on my book. I'm ahead of schedule. Have been for a couple of days now," he grins at her with a sly look. "Now. Go to work, Kate."

"Castle." This is ridiculous. Not only does she have to battle her own selfishness, but she has to do battle with Castle's guilt over it as well? "I'm going in there in the morning. What's twelve hours?"

"They're starting the task force. Esposito says now there's two bodies. Two dead little girls, Kate."

"I *know* that, Castle. Shut the hell up about it, will ya?" She bounces off the couch and heads away from him, irritated and-

restless. How she needs to be at the station. How she longs for it-

No.

This is the new Kate. The good wife and mother, not the selfish one. She reverses direction and stalks back towards him, back towards the two things she's doing this for in the first place.

"Kate-" he tries.

"No. Look. Castle, this is a test I don't intend to fail. I know it seems like nothing, after I've been here a week already. But this is when the rubber meets the road. This is where I have to take my stand and mean it. Don't undercut me here."

He shakes his head. "I'm not trying to do that, believe me. You want to get home in time for dinner and put your kid to bed? I'm all for that. But you've hit every bedtime for the last six days and tonight? Tonight won't matter in the long run. Those little girls? They-"

"No!" She jerks backward, her hand up to stop him. "You don't get to do that to me, Castle. Do not *use* that against me, to manipulate me. That's unfair."

"It's unfair that you be someone you're not to appease some guilty conscience you've got going. It's unfair that two little girls are murdered by some sadistic killer, and you're sitting at home doing nothing but keeping me company-"

"My son is sick. What happens if his fever spikes in a couple of hours and you've got to take him to Urgent Care or, God forbid, the ER? What happens if he calls for me and I'm not there?"

"We'll handle it. I'll handle it. He'll get me instead and he'll be fine."

And wow, she doesn't want him to be fine without her. There's that too. A week at home has made her fall in love with her son, and now she's jealous of his attention. And she sees how it does matter to him, how it matters if she's the one who holds him while he's sick or comes when he calls.

"You don't seem to get it," she starts, sitting on the edge of the chair. "If I give in now, it's too late. I'm done for. If I can hold this off, if I survive tonight, then it makes it easier to do the right thing down the road."

He stares back at her. "You want to have a little girl? Then make this world safe for little girls."

He's going to kill her. He doesn't fight fair. Her chest squeezes the oxygen out of her lungs and she chokes, impotent and ridiculous anger rising in her throat.

"Go do your job, Kate."

She fights everything in her just to stay in the room with him, to not walk out and let off steam away from him. It takes an extreme effort of will to not run away. To not give in and get her badge and gun and strap on Detective again and go do the one thing that she's *always* good at, that she never fails with, that makes sense to her.

She takes a breath, finds she is able to take another.

"No."

He glares back at her, Dashiell squirming now on his chest as he senses the antagonism in the room.

"I'm telling you this isn't the time to pick this battle, Kate. I'm telling you this isn't the fight. Tomorrow at seven when you want to stay at the 12th and you haven't eaten lunch and there are no more leads to chase down that can't wait until morning - that's the time to battle. Not now."

She clenches her fists. "And I'm telling you, Castle. If I don't take a stand *today* on this, then tomorrow, when it's seven o'clock and I haven't even noticed my stomach's empty and there are still tantalizing promises of a lead out there and you call and ask if I plan on coming home any time soon - that's when I'll be able to say yes, and mean it, and not wind up spending three *more* fruitless hours staring at the murderboard. If I can't do it today, Castle, then I never will."

He stares at her; she stares back, willing him to understand.

"I need you to back me up," she say softly. "I need my partner on this, not another doubting voice. Not another questioning voice. That's already in my own head."

Castle glances down at their son, his palm large against Dash's back. The boy has lifted his head to watch them, still drowsy with medicine. Kate stands up and makes her way back to the couch, to her place, where she belongs.

When she sits beside him, Castle grips her fingers tightly. "Okay. I got it. I can do that."

_Even though I think you're wrong. _It hangs there between them, but she doesn't care.

Kate nods at him, sets her jaw against the flickering _what ifs_ in the back of her mind.

If she wants a little girl, go make the world safe for little girls.

Oh God. She's going to need all the strength she can get.

* * *

><p>Alexis comes back downstairs to find everyone on the couch, the television silent, her family looking like they've been flattened.<p>

"Oookay. What's up with you guys?" she asks, sitting down on the arm of the couch. "Dash still got a fever?"

"It's not so bad now," Kate answers.

Her father snags her hand and kisses her knuckles. "All moved back in?"

She sighs and glances to her phone on the coffee table. So tempting. "Yeah. For now. Still have a lot of my stuff in the dorm, but. . ." She shrugs and catches Kate's eye. The woman looks defeated, which is a strange and almost frightening look on her.

"Kate?"

She waves her hand as if to dismiss the worry. "There's a case. Just worrying. And your father isn't helping."

Alexis narrows her eyes at her father.

"What? It's an important case. Kate should be there." When Kate thumps his ear, he yelps. "Okay, okay. I'm wrong. I'm totally wrong. Kate should waste time lying on the couch with us instead."

Alexis snorts and shoves her father over so she can sit down with them. "You guys are nuts. You're the only couple I know arguing over spending *more* time at work instead of less."

Kate snorts in appreciation and pokes Castle's shoulder. "Told ya."

"You don't know the full story," her father starts.

"Hush. I'm serious. Drop it," Kate says, spreading her hands out for Dashiell. "Give him to me. I think his fever has infected your brain."

Alexis watches her father hand the boy over; Dashiell's sleepy eyes open and squeeze shut again, whimpering pathetically as the cool air hits his body. Kate settles him against her chest and props her chin on top of his head, rubbing her hand up and down the boy's back.

Her little brother squirms but doesn't try to move out of his mother's lap. Alexis has never seen Dashiell so still before.

"Okay, I have an idea. Since we're all resisting temptations here, let's do something fun, keep ourselves distracted." She wriggles a little to make her dad give her more room. "Wait, Dad. What temptation are you resisting?"

Her father glances to Kate. "I'm keeping from opening my big mouth and telling Kate to go do her job."

Alexis flashes him a look, but Kate is already giving him a perfectly good glare. "Okay, then, since we are all resisting temptation-"

"Some of us better than others," Kate mutters.

"How about a movie marathon?" Alexis stands up and heads for the entertainment center, pulling out the bottom drawer.

Kate groans. "I veto _Star Wars_ and anything related."

Castle huffs. "Well, I veto _Wizard of Oz_ or anything with flying monkeys or geared towards children." He glances over at Dash. "I'm sick to death of Thomas the Train."

"Train, Daddy," Dashiell murmurs. Alexis and Kate share a grin.

"I veto _Miss Marple_ or anything else Masterpiece Theatre-related." Alexis gives Kate a wincing and apologetic smile.

Kate huffs, but it's that dramatic, teasing kind that makes Rick shoot her a glare for mimicking him.

Alexis turns back to their movie vault, opens up a few more drawers, searching for just the right thing. She spots the ideal candidate in the second drawer and throws a glance over her shoulder, debating Kate. Maybe. Might hate it. Hard to know.

"Okay, I have an idea. A tv marathon, instead," Alexis says, standing up with the dvd case behind her back. Her father shoots her a look. "And it kinda violates all of our vetos."

Her dad laughs. "If it does that, then I say it's probably perfect. What are we talking about here?"

Alexis pulls out season one from behind her back, glances to Kate. "Have you ever seen _Dr. Who_?"

Castle jumps up with excitement and fist pumps. "Perfect idea! And I don't even care that there are probably both flying monkeys and stuff geared towards kids!"

Kate rolls her eyes and holds Dashiell while the startled boy stares at his father, his head lifted from Kate's chest.

"Kate?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I'm up for science fiction. . .we just watched _Return of the Jedi_."

"Oh, it's so not like that," Alexis insists. "It's good."

"Hey now, that sounded suspiciously like heresy, Young Alexis."

She grins at her father. "You know what I mean. _Dr. Who_ is super good, Kate. It's funny and clever and the space stuff is really just like, random aliens are trying to destroy Earth or well, like space-time continuum stuff."

"Will I like it? Even with the space-time stuff?"

Alexis is about to promise, but then she pauses and glances to her dad. Her father knows Kate better, has studied Kate like it's his job (oh, well, it kinda *is* his job). But Kate loves _Miss Marple_ and the Masterpiece Theatre stuff, which Alexis just doesn't get, so maybe she might be wrong about that.

"It's BBC. . ." she hesitates, shrugging.

Her father rescues her. "Oh yeah, Kate. You'll like it. Give it a shot."

Kate glances back and forth between Alexis and her father, then finally says. "On one condition."

"Yeah?"

"Anything."

Castle gets a raised eyebrow for that promise. "I get to be in the middle."

She pats the couch on either side of her, and Alexis shoots her father another look, wanting to know what to do here. But her dad is just standing there, about as stunned as she is.

Alexis glances down at her half-brother, wriggling in Kate's arms, remembers how Kate said to him _You'll have to share_. It gives her courage.

"In the middle of. . .the dog pile?" she asks.

Kate nods.

They always do a dog pile during family movie night. At least, Alexis and her father always did, and they dragged Kate into it really reluctantly. Kate usually manages to get one of the corner seats on the couch so that she doesn't have to cuddle so much. They try to lay like little puppies, all together, a holdover from the days when Alexis was about four and her mother had left for California and her dad had been trying to make her feel secure again.

Of course, even movie nights curled up with your dad watching _Beauty and the Beast_ or _Lion King_ (both with really strong father figures, an absent mother) couldn't erase the distance between the coasts, especially not when you're four and your mother has always been-

Alexis chews on the inside of her mouth and studies Kate.

Kate finally sighs. "Look, if I've got one sweaty little boy on me, what's two more sweaty Castles on either side? Come on. Get it started. Dog pile. I can take it. No, more than that, I want it. Keep me distracted."

Alexis releases a smile and shoots a look at her dad. He seems to be caught up in Kate, so maybe Kate really does mean it.

When you're twenty years old and you're cuddled on the couch with your dad, your little brother, and the step-mother who lets you call her mom, then sometimes it *can* erase the distance, or at least make it seem like the person on the other end of that distance doesn't and hasn't ever really mattered as much as you thought.

Alexis curls on Kate's left and hooks her arm through her mother's as the first episode starts to get good, the mannequins coming to life and chasing Rose Tyler.

Because really, these are the people who matter, the ones who take the time to love. Even Dash, who loves because he doesn't know any better, still brightens when he sees her and holds his little hand out for her to kiss his palm.

And even though her phone is right there, she won't call him.

She really won't.


	95. Chapter 95

Kate tilts her head, stretching her neck, then shifts a little. She's sandwiched by Castles, with Dash on her chest, Alexis on her left, and Rick on her right. Everyone nice and tight and hot. Little furnaces, all of them.

But she asked for it.

Dashiell has fallen asleep again, his fever finally dropping as he sleeps off the motrin. Alexis has shifted so that she's got her head on Kate's knee, her body cramped into her corner of the couch. Castle sits upright, but just the sheer weight resting against Kate has her leaning into him, pressed against his side.

She turns her head and catches Castle watching her, rather than the Dr. Who episode. She quirks an eyebrow at him but he only smiles, leans down to brush his lips along her temple to her ear, whispering.

"Love you."

It washes over her like a warm wave, leaving nothing but. . .him in its wake. She leans towards him, and he meets her halfway so that she can kiss his mouth, warm and soft, tasting like butter and salt, both of them gentle.

She would. . .do anything. For him. With him. Kate's not sure how or when it happened, but it did and it's solid. It's the best thing she's ever known.

"You look overwhelmed," he whispers with a chuckle. "Too much Castle?" He gestures to their family sprawled all over her.

She shakes her head at him, wishes her hands were free. On her lap, Alexis's head turns to glance at them, as if to reassure herself, and then she goes back to the show, something about Bad Wolf; Kate's not following it anymore.

Castle lifts his hand from the back of the couch and brushes his fingers along her neck, soft and slow, tangling in her hair, pulling it back to let his thumb rub her earlobe. She watches him, trapped by the way his eyes darken, the lazy arousal on his face. There's nothing she can do about it, nothing at all, so she sits mute and pinned to the couch by his son, his daughter, tries to keep breathing.

She wants him. So badly.

Kate works her hand free and lifts it to grab his, lacing their fingers, bringing his knuckles to her lips to do what she can. Not nearly enough.

His smile, so brilliant, makes his face light up, makes her breath catch. She loves those lines that radiate from his eyes, crow's feet, but not at all the right word for the way it makes him look, handsome and sexy and joyful, like the world is this amazing place. She does that for him, somehow.

He leans in again, lips to her ear.

"I wanna do things to you," he murmurs.

Her whole body burns; she has to close her eyes to remember how to breathe.

He won't stop; he takes her ear between his teeth, gently, tugs on it until she's leaning against him, her cheek pressed to his, her breath too quick.

"Let me do-"

She manages to bring her fingers across his mouth, pushing him back, and she's blushing, the beast. Kate squeezes his lips together with her fingers, raising her eyebrow, gesturing to Alexis on her lap.

He practically vibrates with laughter; she feels it travel down her arm and into her belly, a lightning bolt of desire. Castle dislodges her hand and darts back towards her ear, sucking lightly on her skin, noiseless and careful, before breathing hotly against her.

"I've already got names picked out," he murmurs.

"Names?"

"You said it was my turn."

"Turn?" He's got her so flustered, so aroused, she can't think straight. She lifts her eyes to meet his, realizes that he's doing it to himself as well. That at least is some consolation.

"My turn to pick out names. For our girl."

Her heart squeezes. "Yeah?" _Our girl._

"I've already thought of two. And an idea for another."

"You're - you're making a list?"

"Mm-hm." His lips brush her ear, travel along her cheekbone to the side of her nose, settle just below her eye, so that her lashes brush his skin. "God, you're beautiful."

Kate's hand slides up to his jaw, holds him there, trying get her breathing back under control, trying to put together the jagged pieces of her heart. He breaks her heart, the way he talks, so beautiful, so tender, like he's surprised to find her there.

Alexis lifts her head and sits up on the couch. "You do know that even though I can't hear you, Dad, I can totally tell what you're doing?"

Oh, jeez. Kate is definitely blushing, and Alexis is grinning at her, and Castle is laughing, the rat.

"How can you tell?" Castle asks.

"Kate forgets to breathe."

She drops her head into her free hand, face turned towards Rick's, away from Alexis, and groans.

"Hey, it's cute. Just, you know, kinda gross to have it going on right over my head. Dash thinks so too. Don't you, bubba?"

Dashiell stirs, reaches out a hand to his sister. She takes his little fingers and kisses them, then tries to pull him out of Kate's lap. He goes immediately, releasing Kate's shirt from his little fist, curling up into Alexis and closing his eyes again.

Kate wants to grab her husband and pull him into their room, but that might be worse than seducing each other on the couch in front of his daughter. Because then Alexis would know, for sure, what they were doing.

"Me and Dash can go upstairs," Alexis says slyly. "If you guys wanna grab some afternoon delight?"

Kate gapes at her, but Rick just laughs, loudly.

Alexis shrugs. "I'm serious. Don't let me get in the way."

"Oh my word. No!"

"Sure," Castle says at the same time.

Kate gives him a deathly glare and shakes her head. "Alexis, you are not in the way. No. We're doing tv marathon. And I'm liking it. And something is going on with this - what did that maid mean by the Big Bad Wolf? And really, what darkness? Did I miss something?"

Alexis raises her eyebrows and shares a look with her father. "You really are a detective. Does she do this with every show?"

"Do what? What am I doing?"

Castle sighs. "Yes. She's no fun. And movies too. She always figures it out ahead of me too."

"What have I figured out?" It's strange how, even as Kate banters with them, she's missing the heat of her son against her chest.

Alexis shifts Dashiell as she sits back against the couch. "Whew, he is sweaty. . .Well, it's just, you've picked up on a clue that comes up later in the series. Like, at the very end. And Dad and I both missed it our first time through."

"Oh. The Big Bad Wolf and the darkness?"

She nods. "And the darkness isn't even in this series. It's way later. I never picked up on it."

Kate shoots Castle a pleased look. "Even you?"

"Don't rub it in. You are trained for this, you know. You're just doing your job."

Still. "Okay, rewind it a little. I want to watch the part I missed while your dad was breathing down my neck." She reaches for Dashiell while Alexis grabs the remote.

Her son whines as he moves again, but he burrows into her chest, his fists clutching around her tshirt again. She hums and presses a kiss to the top of his head, letting her cheek touch his hair, feeling the heat of him.

"I think his fever has broken."

Castle reaches past her and brushes the back of his hand against Dash's neck. "Think so. Feels better. And sweaty. That's always a good sign."

"So let's keep watching," Kate decides. "Plus, this one has Charles Dickens in it. What's not to love?"

Castle chuckles at her, replacing his hand at her neck. She gives him a hot look; just the touch of his fingertips right now and she's losing it.

Alexis has it cued up for them. "Ready?"

"Ready. Castle. Seriously-" She shrugs her shoulders and turns to soften her reaction with an explanation. "You keep doing that and I can't be held responsible for what happens next."

Castle pouts, but removes his hand from her neck. "Can we still dog pile?"

"If we have to," she answers, then turns to his daughter, pats the side of the couch. "Come on."

Alexis laughs, scooting closer to lean her head against Kate's shoulder. "Is this okay?"

"Perfect. Castle?" She turns her head, raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Rick wiggles his eyebrows back and wraps his arm around all three of them, pulls her down into his chest. Dashiell whines and settles himself half in her lap, half in Castle's, his head on Kate's thigh. She squirms until she's comfortable, dropping a hand to her son's back, and Alexis starts the episode at the place where Kate got distracted.

After a few minutes, Kate feels Castle's fingertips drift back to her neck. She sighs, but it does feel so good. She tilts her head up and finds him watching her again; she gestures for him to come closer. He ducks his head in close to her lips.

"Are you gonna tell me what's on your list?"

Castle grins, brushing his fingers along her eyebrows. "No. Can it be a surprise?"

She bites her lip, glances to the television to keep up with the plotline, then back to him. "A surprise. Okay. Are we. . .really doing this?"

He presses a quick kiss to the spot between her eyebrows. "Yes," he breathes. "We're really doing this."


	96. Chapter 96

He's got ideas. He's excited about his ideas, and that's when he realizes that, yeah, he wants a daughter. He's always wanted a daughter for Kate, another little girl to call princess and to baby and to be bewildered by, but after Dash was born and Kate nearly died, he just. . .couldn't get past that.

Now, he wonders how much of that fear was more a reflection of the state of their relationship than a real concern for her safety. As he told her earlier today, she goes to work every morning, and he thinks nothing of it. (To be honest, he does think of it. He just doesn't agonize over it.)

Their conversations (fights) this week have settled things between them. Given him a firm idea of where they stand, of her feelings about what they've managed to create between them. It isn't where she intended to go when they first started, but if he's honest, it wasn't what he intended either.

Actually, when Kate Beckett let him into her bed that second night, and he knew it was going to be like this for them, the future had not entered into it. The way they might be in three years, one year - that wasn't a priority. At the time, he'd been intent on erasing all the bad memories, the terrible thing they had gone through.

Now that this is where they are, he realizes he needed some confirmation from her. And he's gotten it. In spades.

When Alexis's stomach growls, and then Kate's follows suit, they decide to take a break from Dr. Who and reheat their Chinese takeout for a second dinner. Alexis heaps her plate full and sticks it in the microwave while Kate piles more shrimp fried rice onto her plate. Castle sits on the couch, making certain that Dashiell is really asleep now that he's been moved to the couch cushion, and then heads into the kitchen after them.

Alexis kisses his cheek. "Thanks for dinner."

"Of course." He squeezes her shoulder for a hug and hunts down a clean plate.

"Have you finished the book, Dad?"

"Yeah, actually. I did. It went well. I had to write something like thirteen chapters this week. And in the middle of that was the big rescue scene, the showdown between the killer and Nikki."

Kate grins at him and hunts for a clean glass. "So did Nikki Heat get rescued, or did she save herself?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, she saved herself. Of course, Rook came in trying to play the hero, but he ended up walking into a trap."

Kate's face fell. "Oh."

"It was rough, but they're okay now," he says, giving her a half-hearted smile, trying to say enough without giving away too much to Alexis.

"He. . .tried to rescue her. But got captured instead." She has timid questions in her eyes.

He clears his throat, nods at her in answer. "I've had it rattling around in the back of my brain for a few years now," he admits. "I just. . .had to get it out, Kate."

Alexis glances back and forth between them, but the microwave dings and she reaches to pull it out.

Kate apparently still feels the need to ask. "Was that. . .from that case?"

He glances down at his empty plate. "Yeah."

"The Butcher," she says softly.

Alexis turns on her heel, plate in her hands, her eyes on her father. "Dad?"

"Three years ago, sweetheart."

Alexis glances at Kate, but Kate won't look at her. He knows why. But Alexis won't let it go until she gets satisfying information.

"It was the case that. . .brought us together," Kate finishes for him, evidently recognizing that need in Alexis.

His daughter grins, and he and Kate mimic her, letting her pleased surprise wash over them. "That's so cool. And now it's in your novel. Kinda sweet, Dad."

Yeah. Cool isn't the word he'd use. And sweet definitely doesn't cut it. "Right, pumpkin."

Alexis grabs a fork from the drawer and glances to her phone. "Actually. . .do you mind if I call Ashley, eat this upstairs? You guys can keep watching Dr. Who without me."

Kate sighs. "You sure you want to call him?"

Alexis furrows her brow; Castle wonders what that's about.

"Why don't you sleep on it, Alexis?"

"I just. . .he's my best friend, Mom. I really need to talk to my friend."

Castle glances over at Kate; she's nodding and looking at him. Again that case, rising before them like a specter. Not even Alexis calling her mom will undo what Castle has managed to raise between them: memory, back from the dead.

Kate clears her throat. "I understand. Go call Ashley. If you want to rejoin us later, we'll probably still be watching."

Alexis leans in quickly and kisses Kate's cheek, then heads for her phone still on the coffee table.

When she's upstairs, Kate slowly puts her plate in the microwave, then turns back to him.

He's ready for it. He's been mentally preparing himself for this conversation for days. Ever since he wrote Nikki Heat into that torture scene, with Rook coming in the door unaware. He's known she would figure it out sooner or later.

"The Butcher," she says, something hard in her voice.

"I had to get it out of my head," he says. "I'm sorry. It's just how I cope."

"Immortalize it in a novel?"

"I changed things," he defends. "Not the same m.o., not the same location. And this time, Nikki saves herself. And Rook."

"Unlike last time."

He shivers and squeezes the edges of his plate. He really doesn't want to be having this conversation. "He won't know it's him. If he even ever reads it. Which I doubt."

Thankfully, the Butcher was one serial killer who hadn't latched on to Kate Beckett because she was the inspiration for Nikki Heat. Castle sincerely doubts the Butcher will ever get a chance to read his novels on death row.

"I know I've never asked you this, and you can say no. . .but can I read it before you let them publish it?" Her face is a mix of emotion; he's never seen so much conflicted uncertainty in her eyes before.

"Of course."

She glances up, maybe a little surprised, and then says, "And. . .if I. . .if there are things that are too. . .close. . .can I say no?"

She's breathing hard; he can see the pulse in her neck making her skin flutter. "Kate. Oh, Katie. Of course." He drops the plate to the counter and slides his arms around her tightly. "I would never. . .anything at all, Kate. Anything. I don't ever want to hurt you, especially not with a book."

She nods against his chest; he can practically feel the way she gets small and vulnerable whenever they talk about the Butcher. Not that they've talked about it.

She's still not exactly over it, is she? Well, he hadn't been either, not until he wrote that Nikki Heat scene. And it's not the same. It's, actually, more gruesome in his novel than it was in real life. Or at least, more gruesome that he remembers.

"Hey, Kate. Breathe."

She nods again; he hears her shuddering intake of breath. Her fingers are gripping his biceps so tightly her knuckles are white and he'll have bruises tomorrow.

He remembers the text from her phone that night, asking him to meet her. He remembers thinking it was strange, but he hadn't heard from Beckett in nearly twelve hours, and he'd just about been ready to head into the precinct to see if there'd been a break in the case, assuming she'd been too caught up to call him.

He'd googled the address she sent him to get directions, and he'd left it up on his laptop. That might have been the thing that saved their lives.

When he'd gotten to the abandoned boathouse on the Hudson River, the smell of sewage and dead fish was strong. Even today, he can't take the smell of raw fish. Neither can Kate. Funny, because she loves shrimp, doesn't see the connection. But Castle avoids shrimp as well. Maybe that's why he bought her the shrimp fried rice tonight, a subconscious apology for the scene in Nikki Heat.

He'd walked in on it. On the Butcher. And Kate.

And just like Rook, the trap was sprung.

"Hey, stop," she whispers, her mouth against his throat. "Stop. I don't. . .I don't want nightmares tonight, okay? For either one of us. Not my last night before going back in to work."

The little girls. . .butchered in this case too, isn't that what Esposito said? He wonders, suddenly, if this is why Kate took a week off. Okay, maybe not the real reason, but a contributing factor?

"Do you want to read that part in the novel now? Tonight? Or wait until daylight."

"Daylight," she answers unhesitatingly. She's got her hand between them now, rubbing at her right thigh. She still has faint spiderweb scars, silvered over the last few years, up high near her hip.

He remembers that too. He can't help remembering. Even as he wrote it this week, he kept having to call her, or go find her in the living room, or text her. Just to reassure himself. Not that he thought the Butcher was out there, kidnapping Kate, but he just needed that touchstone. Every couple of sentences or so.

"Does it make it better, Castle? To write it?"

He nods. "Yes."

"Does it make it better. . .to have it published?"

He hesitates. Truth or no?

"It does," she answers for him.

He sighs. "It does."

"Why?"

"It makes it. . .final. Over. I can, quite literally, close the book on it."

"If I. . .if I can't do it-"

"I'll be fine. Just writing the damn thing helped more than I can say. I really am okay, Kate. I just want you to be ok. Will you be ok?"

She nods. "I'm. . .I had mostly pushed it out of my mind. I had therapy sessions for weeks. And I had. . .you." She's giving him that soft, sensual grin, almost back to herself again.

He holds her a little closer. "You definitely had me. All over the place. Your bed, couch, the kitchen table-"

She bites his neck, making him squeak with surprise, laughing at her.

"Hush," she murmurs. "I'm already having trouble keeping my hands to myself tonight. Don't need more of that."

"Does it bother you, Kate?"

She grins; she's totally missed the point of his question. "Not at all."

"I mean. That the Butcher is what. . .brought us together."

Kate frowns fiercely at him. "The Butcher-" she growls, "-did *not* bring us together. What, you saw me naked and bloody at the mercy of his knife and that suddenly made me so irresistible-"

"No!"

"Then that bastard had nothing to do with us, Castle. And never will."

She's trying not to cry. Damn. He's an idiot; he hugs her tighter, presses her face to his shoulder, tries to apologize somehow.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"All it did. . .all it did was make me see things. . .clearly. Any kind of thing like that, Castle, and it makes life very black and white."

He shivers again and buries his face in her hair. "Yeah." God, seeing her spread out over the table in that boathouse, tied-

"Stop."

He nods. "Yeah, yeah. Stopping."

"Any kind of life or death situation, Castle. Doesn't matter what. But eventually, I'd have seen it. Seen you. I promise you that. I wouldn't have been willfully blind much longer."

He doesn't care what would have done it or what had done it, had driven her to his bed. It doesn't matter the reason, only the outcome.

"I love you, Kate. I'm sorry I wrote that, so sorry-"

She swallows hard and wraps her arms around his neck. "We're good. I'm good. It'll be fine."

"I'll take it all out-"

"No, Castle. Just. . .let me read it first. Give me a chance to prepare myself."

He nods.

"I love you more," she whispers. "More than a few words. More than Nikki Heat. More than a scene in a book."

"I remember."

"Good." She takes a long breath in. "I want to go hold my son, Castle-"

"Your food is ready. Take it with you?"

She nods, but doesn't detach herself from him.

"I'll be there in a minute. Start the next episode. Wake up Dashiell."

She chuckles dryly and steps back. "Thanks."

"Jeez, don't thank me, Kate. I'm the one that brought this all up again."

She shrugs. "Probably was time. After the week we've had, probably needed to be brought up."

That might be true.

Kate brushes her hand down his arm as she moves past him to the microwave, pulling out her still-hot Chinese food. He hands her a clean fork; she kisses the corner of his mouth and heads for the couch.

He watches her walk, can't help but remember writing that scene in his study, the look in her eyes that he painted onto Nikki's as well. He might have to cut that out, even if she doesn't ask him to. Some things. . .some things maybe should stay just between them.

Castle shakes his head and turns back to the leftovers sitting out on the counter. He should follow her lead, eat, sit on his couch and watch some innocuous television, have Kate against his side, his son asleep on her lap. He should tease her about the names he's going to pick out for their girl. Make her think it will be something crazy or horrid.

Yeah. Kate is the best medicine. Every time.

It's what made him show up at her apartment that night, that night after Ryan and Esposito tracked him to the boathouse. Of course, by that time it would have been too late, had Castle not managed to break out of the Butcher's bindings and take out the sadistic bastard.

Ryan had found them first. A machete blade lodged into the Butcher's head, the blood slick along the floor (he had survived, amazingly). Castle with a scalpel embedded in his forearm, where he'd raised his hand at the last minute to block the killing blow. Another blade, a filleting knife, in his thigh. He still has those scars; Alexis has seen the one in his arm, but never asked. They are small; he barely notices them.

He didn't notice them at the time either. Shock or something. Castle doesn't remember. He doesn't remember much of the actual attack; he knows he saw the Butcher bring the fillet knife to Kate's skin. He still has that dream sometimes; the Butcher sliding the blade along her thigh.

And then-

He has no idea. He jerked out of the restraints so hard that he needed stitches around his left wrist; he'd been shackled with Kate's cuffs. She says they weren't faulty; she insists it's not possible that he could've gotten out of them.

But he did.

And then-?

He doesn't know. He's grateful for that blankness of memory. Kate was unconscious, so she doesn't have memory of it either. Castle just remembers Esposito was unwrapping him from around Kate's blood-soaked body.

God.

Castle shudders and yanks open the microwave, grabs his hot plate without feeling it.

He went to Kate's apartment and found her a wreck, but alive. Both of them. She'd launched herself into his arms and he'd found her tongue in his mouth before he knew what was happening. So their first time was a blur of angry, grief-filled sex that they had both needed badly. He doesn't regret it, not a single second.

He's just glad that she let him back in her bed for that second time around. He spent the night at her place making her forget their first time, making certain she was well-loved, cherished, beloved.

"Castle. Stop thinking and get your ass over here," she yells from the couch.

He laughs, a grateful sound, and heads towards the sound of her voice.

"Did you wake up Dash?"

"He's been awake. Come sit. It's already started."

Castle drops to the couch next to her, her body warm and strong against him. Dashiell is laying beside her, his little eyes open and watching the screen, but still very quiet. Kate's left hand covers his back, rubbing slow circles.

Three months after the Butcher, Kate told him he was going to be a father all over again. But she's right. The Butcher has nothing to do with this, with any of this; the Butcher has nothing to do with his son's energetic happiness, with the way his wife responds to the brush of his fingertips across her neck, with the way Alexis shyly calls her mom.

Castle leans back, plate in his lap, trying to push away all thoughts of the Butcher. On the screen, Rose Tyler has been confronted with a Dalek, bent on exterminating her. Speaking to the Doctor, she meets her fate, "It's the end, Doctor. But it's not your fault... And you know what? I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

Beside him, Kate reaches for his hand, laces their fingers together.


	97. Chapter 97

Castle has fallen asleep by the time the next episode has started. Kate still watches the tv, because it's interesting enough to distract her from the things she doesn't want to remember, the things she won't let back in.

After awhile, she realizes that she's been unconsciously running her fingers along the scar at the base of her wrist, just under her palm, where she pulled so hard on the wire binding her that she nearly sliced off her own hand. Not that, at the time, she could have kept still.

The thin line is nearly invisible. As is the memories of the pain. She's not sure Castle even knows she has this scar. But she still feels it, just under the pads of her fingers, like a bracelet caught on her wrist that won't come off. Just this one spot. The wire left no marks anywhere else.

It takes a force of will to stop touching it. To instead reach down for her son and lift him from the couch, bring him against her chest. Dashiell squirms, gives her a pitiful look for waking him, then lifts his head to stare around at the room. Fever-glazed and medicine-blurred eyes finally meet hers.

"Hey baby," she whispers.

"Momma," he murmurs, tilting his head just like Castle as he watches her.

"I'm okay. Don't mind me falling apart over here. Are *you* feeling better, little man?"

His mouth breaks open into a yawn and he rubs his fists into his eyes, then squirms to get down. Surprised, so quickly has she forgotten that snuggling on the couch is not in his nature, Kate lets him go. He must feel better.

He totters for the kitchen, unsteady on his feet, and Kate remembers he still hasn't had any dinner.

"Hey, you hungry now?"

She follows along behind him, warily eyeing the dishwasher, until Dash gets to the bar stool at the counter. He grabs hold of its legs and tries to pull himself up, but the stool rocks backward. Kate lunges for it, catches it before the kid can pull it down on himself.

Dash squawks at her, but she ignores his protests and lifts him up onto the stool. Immediately, Dash gets on his belly to wriggle off, and Kate halts his movements with a tight hand around his arm.

"No. Sit."

Something of the hardness in her voice translates, and Dashiell lifts his head to look at her, maybe to judge how serious she is, and then he scrambles back into a sitting position. Eager to be a good boy again.

"Thank you. Good sitting," she murmurs, brushing a kiss to the top of his head.

She heads for the fridge, keeping an eye on him (he's not in the booster seat, and she knows that's playing with fire, but she doesn't feel up to that battle). She pulls out one of his snack containers that Castle filled up this morning and pops off the lid.

Strawberries, crackers, deli meat. That works. She doesn't have the energy or the wherewithal to make him something right now. Her brain is a jumbled mess of memory and pain, nervous anticipation and fierce anger. She needs an hour in the gym with a sparring partner. Really badly.

Instead, she offers him the container and slides into the chair behind him, lifting him up to sit in her lap. He grunts in surprise, but eagerly attacks the deli turkey with his fingers, willing to let her sit with him so long as he's fed.

She keeps him in her lap, hunched around his warm little body, and closes her eyes, tries not to think.

Maybe when she reads Castle's novel, maybe that will do for her what it's clearly done for him. Let Nikki Heat deal with it. It's time to stop hiding from it, time to face the demon in the little box inside her head.

It's not him, not the Butcher. He's on death row; he'll never get her again. It wasn't like the serial killer had obsessed with her, had terrorized her beforehand; he hadn't. She had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all. Supremely unlucky. Of course, it was her job that had brought her to that place, but that he chose her. . .that was a stroke of good fortune. For the cops. Or someone.

Not her.

Because it was her own fault that her guard was down. It was her own fault that she hadn't reacted quickly enough. It was her phone the Butcher had used to lure Castle there. And God-

the look on his face when he saw her.

Kate raises a trembling hand to her face, feels the tears on her cheeks she doesn't remember shedding. In her lap, Dashiell turns around and glances warily at his mother, a strawberry in one little hand turning to mush.

"I'm okay," she whispers, taking a ragged breath.

Suddenly she feels Castle's warmth at her back, his arms coming around her shoulders to embrace her from behind. She sucks in a breath and grasps his forearm, holding on.

"You're crying," he murmurs.

"No."

Castle lifts his hand to brush her cheeks; his fingers come away wet.

"No," she says again. "Just, attempting to let go."

His answering hum is more question than agreement, but he lets it slide, presses his cheek to the top of her head.

"Can I read it now?" she asks suddenly. "Tonight?"

"Yes. I'll get it for you."

"I think I need to start from the beginning. Can I read from the beginning?"

"Of course," he says simply. "Anything." But he doesn't move; he stays behind the chair with his arms around her. Dashiell keeps eating, but turns around from time to time to look at his father, to make faces as he chews as if he knows his parents need some cheering up.

Dash spits out turkey and wrinkles his nose, then puts it back in his mouth, pressing his hand against his lips to keep it in. He moves strawberries around on the counter and makes train noises, turning back around to his mother to beam, so proud.

After awhile, her heart rate slows to normal; she's stopped trembling. Castle captures the hand she's placed over his arm and runs his thumb over the lines in her palm. When his touch gradually lowers to the scar at her wrist, she shivers.

"Sometimes I forget," he says. "Do you. . .do you ever forget?"

Kate cradles his hand in both of hers and presses a kiss to palm, her lashes, still wet, brushing his skin. "I'm so glad. So glad you can. That you have."

"Have you?"

"For the most part." She's honest because she doesn't know how to not be. Not anymore. Not with him. What would be the point? She is this, he accepts it and loves her for it, in spite of it, because of it.

"This one here is so small," he says softly, running his fingers around the half moon line along her wrist. "The ones here, even now, when I see them, I don't think of him." His touch drops to her leg, blocked by Dashiell's warm body. "I don't even think of him."

"I don't either," she answers. "It's just, what it is. And yours-?"

"Maybe it's because I'm a guy, but they're badges of honor. A point of pride. How I saved the day."

She laughs, but it does sound hollow. She knows that. "My hero."

"I was." His voice sounds indignant.

"You _are._"

His chest vibrates with some kind of machismo, a hum or growl, and she feels it against her back. She smiles and turns her face into his cheek, kisses the soft point under his jaw, the little spot where his beard won't grow for some reason. It's smooth under lips, hers alone, the place she knows and loves that no one else can have.

"I don't know how you did it, but you did, Castle."

"Yeah, thankfully, those moments are blessedly absent from my memory as well. Although I'd like to revel in my glory, it's gone."

She lifts her arm to hook around his neck, bring him closer. Dashiell bounces in her lap as he slaps a piece of deli meat onto the counter then chortles in delight as he pulls it back up, bringing cracker crumbs with it.

Castle's lips find her ear again. "How much do you remember?"

"Most of it is gone."

He sighs, relief or grief or both. "Are you sure you want to read-?"

"I think it will help. As it helped you to write it. It's been done, over, for years now."

"Sometimes years isn't enough, Kate."

She nods, watches her son drag his finger through the pulpy remains of his strawberries.

Finally she says what she's wanted to say since. . .since she jumped him in her apartment three years ago. "When you walked through the door of the boathouse, Castle-" It sticks in her throat; she has to swallow a few times to get it out. "I wasn't afraid until you walked in. I wasn't even. . .feeling it much. And then I saw your face, saw you see me. . ." She shivers and clutches at him harder. "It was all very real then."

Castle moves around beside the chair to press her into his arms. But she's okay now, she's better. The tears have stopped at least. Dashiell squirms under Castle's arm and reaches for the crackers in his dish.

"Do you remember that?" she asks.

"Y-yes," he says, his voice cracking. "That's in the book. That moment. God-"

"Good. That's what I need to get out of me."

He shudders. "It's me? I'm the-"

"No. Hush," she chides, smoothing her fingers down his cheek. "I'm a pretty solitary person, Castle. Or well, I was."

He lifts his head to look at her, questions in the darkness of his eyes.

"That was just the moment I knew, black and white knew, that I wasn't in this alone anymore. There was you. And it made it so much worse, right then. In that moment, I realized I was bringing you with me. Everywhere. Even the terrible places I never wanted you to be."

"If you're there, Kate, I'm there too."

She nods; she's not exactly accepted that, but she knows it's the truth. Nothing she can do would change his mind, would make him save himself at her expense. And that still scares the shit out of her.

She's the police officer; she's the one with the sense of duty, sworn to protect. But she can't protect him.

"So that's. . .so reading your version of it, even if it's been altered to fit Nikki Heat. . ."

"The names have been changed to protect the innocent," he quotes, smiling at her.

She nods. "It will help. It's just. . .your books always have, Castle."

His hand on her neck tightens briefly. "That actually. . .makes me feel better."

She laughs, and this time it's not so empty-sounding. Dashiell twists in Castle's arms and turns back to beam at Kate; he must think she's laughing at him. He has red stains around his mouth from the strawberries and a clump of turkey in his hair, mashed into a curl.

"Okay, buddy. Enough playing. Are you done eating?" She moves her arms to start gathering the debris around the counter, sitting up, away from Castle's draping body. Gathering herself as well.

Dashiell leans his head against her arm, heavy and warm, and pats the crook of her elbow with his little fingers, spreading strawberry juice on her skin. She kisses the back of his neck and puts the smeared pieces of food back the container, pushes it away from them.

Castle takes it, dumps it in the sink. "I'll get my laptop now, Kate. If you want."

She nods. "Yeah. I know you hate it when I read your stuff in front of you, but could you stay? All of us on the couch maybe?"

He shifts from one foot to the other, the only sign of how uncomfortable it makes him, but he's grinning at her. "Yeah. We'll dogpile. Right, Dash? Come help me find Daddy's laptop." Castle leans in and scoops the boy up from her lap, cuddling him.

Kate watches them leave the room, heading for the study, and for a moment, grief washes over her, melancholy and slow, like lowering herself into a tub of hot water. Grief for how easy it used to be, how she'll never go back there, to being alone, to being safe, even if it was easier. She can't go back.

It's the same feeling that made her open her door to Castle three years ago, open her door and pull him down for a searing kiss, then shove her hands under his jacket and work at his pants. Easier then to be alone, but she's not alone now, and she wasn't alone even then, even when she wasn't technically with him, she was with him. They were in it together.

They are in it together.

They always will be.


	98. Chapter 98

Since Kate doesn't want Dash too far away, Castle tucks the boy into the middle of their own bed for the night, propping pillows around him to keep him from rolling out. Honestly, a pillow can't really stop him if he feels like wandering in his sleep, but it eases his father's conscience.

He closes the blinds tightly, turns off the bathroom light, and shuts the door on their son. Kate wants to hold off on giving him another dose of motrin tonight, wait and see if his fever truly stays away, and because of that, she wants Dash close.

Is it silly that this makes him so happy? Kate, being bossy as usual, but over their son? In the past, she's left those decisions up to him because she didn't feel comfortable making them; she's always said he's the one with experience.

So he likes that she's being bossy. It's a good thing.

Kate's sitting in the living room reading his mostly edited third draft of the novel, her knees propping up his laptop, her thumbnail in her mouth with her teeth working at it. He's seen her read his books like this before, although he does try to make himself scarce when she reads his stuff. It makes him nervous; he doesn't want to see her face in the moment, raw and unfiltered. Just in case it sucks.

When he comes back into the living room, she glances up at him distractedly, smiles. "If I make comments out loud will you hate that?" Is she teasing him? She's teasing him.

"You know I will."

"Can I say that it's funny?"

"What if that part's not supposed to be funny?"

She laughs and pulls her knees up a little higher, nods to the end of the couch. That's much too close, he thinks, but since he knows she's probably only a chapter into it and very quickly getting to the guts of the plot, he sits. Much too close. Because she might need him there.

"It is funny," she says gently. He glances up at her soft eyes. Dark and nearly luminous in the clear, smooth setting of her face.

"I hope it's a part where it's supposed to be funny."

"I love their conversations."

"Of course you do. They're our conversations."

She nudges his thigh with her toe. "No they aren't."

He laughs, tilting his head at her. "Of course they are. Who else's would they they be?"

She opens her mouth, glances back down to the screen. "Well. I don't know. But I don't talk like this."

"You do. When you're a cop."

"I'm always a cop."

"Oh, baby, not always," he grins, wiggling an eyebrow.

She bursts into laughter; his shoulders loosen to hear it, relaxed and calm and easy. She's gone from ghost-like, faded, a shell of her usual strength to this. . .all because she read the first chapter of his book.

Yeah, that could give him a huge ego. Or an even bigger ego than he already has?

"Sit back. Relax. It's still fun, yet," she says, pushing on his chest with her foot. "And sexy. These two, whew." She fans herself with a hand, watching him.

Castle captures her ankle with his hand, makes a fist, and digs his knuckles into her arch. She groans and her hips jerk upwards (he always finds that amusing, that little involuntary response she has to his hands on her feet). That's what she gets for teasing him.

"Oh, jeez. Not - not too distracting, Castle. Otherwise I won't be able to read. Not when the real thing's right in front of me."

He grins back at her, quirks his eyebrow at the way he can make her come undone (he loves that), and keeps massaging her foot. She lets him, but he can hear her rapid breaths as she goes back to his story.

It's better this way, focusing on giving her foot a massage instead of the lines in her face, the light in her eyes as she reads. She's never asked to read his material before she can get her hands on the printed version; she's emphatically denied wanting to read it before then. She says she wants to curl up with the book, not the computer.

But she does snatch those Advanced Reader Copies right out of his hands the moment he gets them. She'll even mark the places where his editor or the publisher missed something. But with those, the book is basically done; he's made it as good as it's going to get. He's spent hours rereading the scenes, editing the language, reworking the paragraph. It's close to polished. He feels more confident when it's like that, bound between two stiff, plastic-coated covers.

But like this? It seems so up in the air. And Kate has always been his only audience. His ideal audience. Well, at least with Nikki Heat. When she reads about Nikki, Castle needs her approval.

He works his thumb into the tender spot below the ball of her foot, making her grunt in pleasure as he soothes the muscles and tendons there. She doesn't look up though.

She does wriggle back down in the couch so she can put her other foot in his lap as well, a silent demand for more. He alternates between them, focusing on the arches, the dainty ankles, the slim toes. He digs his knuckles down into her muscles and massages up to the back of her calves.

He feels the moment she first meets the Butcher through Nikki Heat's eyes. Her leg muscles seem to almost cramp under his fingers, so tight and tense that they're hard as rocks. Castle glances up and her eyes are riveted to the screen, but she's crossed her arms over her chest.

He's not looking forward to this. He wishes he didn't have to see her face.

After a moment, with his hands still on her ankles, Kate shakes off her panic? and breaks free of the story long enough to meet his eyes. She gives him a gentle smile, her body relaxes.

"I'm okay."

He nods. He'll still believe it. For now.

Castle tilts his head back against the couch, lets his mind wander so he doesn't have to think about Kate Beckett reading his unfinished (although complete) novel right beside him.

He must doze off for awhile, because the next thing he knows, Kate's crawled into the tight space between his body and the couch, her head resting against his chest as she reads. He brushes her hair out of his mouth and glances down at the computer screen.

She's a fast reader; she's right in the middle of the first encounter, chapter seven or so. Kate is tense against him, her arms crossed over her chest, one little finger out to scroll down as she reads. Castle shifts a little bit, gets his arm out from under her where it fell asleep, drapes it over the back of the couch.

He knows her well enough to understand that she won't like for him to try to hug her right now. She won't want his arms around her in any way. She'll need to feel free to pull away, get up quickly, flee. Holding her down, holding her at all, is tantamount to binding her wrists with wire.

They've had this conversation before. He doesn't entirely get it, but that's because he's a physical kind of person. He likes to touch, he likes to have arms around him. If he were reliving these memories, he'd want someone holding him.

Of course, he's also kinda a big baby. She's a badass detective. It works somehow.

He does feel grateful that she's letting his body cradle her, that her back is pressed against his chest, her cheek to his shirt. He brushes aside her hair again, starts reading over her shoulder.

So much of this book has undergone major revisions that these scenes have lost their power. He would read them and practically skim them, scanning for mistakes or details he changed or the editor's marks. But reading with Kate, the words reassert their spell over him, twine around his psyche and start tugging.

When the Butcher (who Roach dub Carver instead, and that's the name Castle uses throughout), when the Butcher taunts Nikki Heat through her apartment building's call box, Kate breaks out in goosebumps.

She wriggles a little deeper into the nest she's made of the couch and his body, scrolls down to the next page.

Since the novel is, at its core, a love letter to his wife (all of them are, they always have been), there is, of course, teasing interludes between Rook and Heat, the two of them finite steps closer to happiness even if still rather amorphous in their relationship. Kate keeps telling him that getting Rook and Heat together won't ruin everything, that if he's a good enough writer, he should be able to write their passionate, crazy, love/hate relationship without losing any fans to boredom.

He's not sure about that. Either premise. He's good enough (he likes to think he is), but maybe Nikki and Rook wouldn't survive it. And then he's got to apologize every time he says it, because she takes it personally. (Years ago, she kept insisting she wasn't Nikki, and he wasn't Rook. Now it's the opposite.)

When they hit chapter ten and the last body drops (the last body before Carver snatches Heat), and the poor dead woman's torso bears Carver's message, Kate twists her head back to look at him. "This is all new stuff. I mean, this didn't happen."

He nods.

"I think it's going to be okay," she says, a little too desperately.

He shrugs.

"Neither one of them get killed," she says, and he hears the question in her voice.

"Neither one of them gets killed."

She goes back to the novel.

* * *

><p>He falls asleep again, because he wakes up to find her missing. The laptop is on the coffee table and he glances at the screen. He maybe dozed for fifteen minutes, because it's chapter eleven and Nikki has been tied up on her bed in her own home.<p>

Castle stands up and glances around the room, wonders where Kate has gone.

On a hunch, he heads towards their bedroom, walking the hall softly in his bare feet, tapping on the door before opening it. Just to let her know he's there.

Kate is lying on the bed, her head propped up with one hand, the fingers of her other hand trailing through Dashiell's curls. Their son is still asleep, his mouth open, his breathing heavy.

"Kate," he whispers.

She meets his eyes, gives him a little shrug. Meaning what, he doesn't know. Castle crouches beside the bed and she turns over to face him, her hand going out now to brush through his hair instead. It's really not like her.

"Still okay?" he asks.

She nods. "I'm ready now."

He watches her, studies her eyes, the set of her mouth. She is ready. She might have gotten a little overwhelmed out on the couch, but of course, Castle fell asleep, abandoned the watch, and she came in here to settle down.

"Can you bring the laptop in here?" she whispers, her hand pausing to rest on his shoulder.

Castle nods and stands up, dislodging her touch, and heads back out to the living room. He scoops up the laptop (it hasn't gone to sleep yet, so she really hasn't been in there long). On his way back through, he glances at the time.

It's already ten o'clock.

When he gets back to their bedroom, Kate is propped up at the head of the bed. She leans forward and gestures to the space behind her. He's surprised by it, and maybe a corner of his brain is also concerned.

She wants him to hold her?

"Come here, Castle. I gotta sit up to read. You're a good body pillow." She gives him a quirk of her lips.

Castle puts the laptop on the bed and then crawls onto the bed behind her, settling back against the headboard, wrapping his arms around her waist. Kate curls on her side, sitting in the V made by his legs, her ear pressed against his chest. She props the laptop on his left thigh, uses her stacked knees to support the other side of the computer.

"Tell me if the laptop gets too hot," she whispers, drawing one hand up to press against his chest, near her face, like a child curled up in bed.

He keeps his arms loose, but he can't help stroking a hand up and down her arm, shoulder to elbow, trying to soothe. Beside them, Dashiell sleeps in his nest of pillows, oblivious.

Over the top of her head, Castle begins reading along; he can feel his own heart pounding in counter rhythm to Kate's.

_Her heart is breaking for him._

_She hears the key in the door; the key she didn't give him; the key she guesses he took. Hears the key, hears the killer react._

_He's going to open the door and walk in on this. He's going to open the door to her apartment, apologetic and humble, and the first thing he'll see is the hallway straight back to her room (it's a new apartment and she had liked the idea of seeing the front door from her bed). He'll see the hallway and his eyes will follow the line of the hall to her bed. He'll see the pale moon of her right knee, her spread-eagle legs, the line of blood drying on her shin. He'll see the round curve of her hip, mottled with bruises, the swell of her breast marred by the criss-cross of shallow knife wounds. He'll see the fear in her eyes._

_Oh God._

_Nikki doesn't want him to see this. The blood, the wounds, the naked lines of her body: any of that she can take. The fear is hers alone. It's not to be seen. The killer hasn't seen it and won't. But Jameson Rook will see it the moment he opens the door. He'll see-_

_So much._

_She struggles ever harder against the rope, her wrists burning as the raw places break open again, weep clear and then red with her blood. Her gun mocks her on the nightstand. She needs her weapon. She just needs an inch more. She curls her fingers down to her wrist until the muscles start spasming again, cramps lock her joints even as she digs her nails into the knotted rope._

_He can't see her like this. He can't walk in on this._

_The killer, the shadow of death that haunts her doorway with a smile, the killer moves to the living room, lying in wait. No weapons but the element of surprise and his bare hands and his cold soulless will. Her heart pounds; the sweat slicks her body and makes the myriad wounds burn in excruciating pulses. Blood is pooled in her belly button._

_The key turns the tumblers. She hears him calling out her name:_

_"Nik."_

_Her heart is breaking. It is in her eyes. She doesn't want him to see it._

_The door swings wider, the flare of his coat, the length of his thigh meeting his hip, the line of his belt, the straight arrow of his tie pointing to the bewildered flush of his face._

_He sees her. He sees it all._

Kate grips his tshirt and closes her eyes; Castle leans over her to look, gives up on being good or keeping his distance, and he wraps both arms around her, a tight hug. She shivers. "You're right on target," she croaks.

He doesn't want to be. "I'm sorry."

"I'm okay."

He's not sure he believes it this time.

"You made it worse for Nikki."

He grunts into the top of her head. "I think that's a relative term."

"The Butch - Carver is toying with her. It's sexual. The Butcher didn't do that - that to me."

He hears her stutter, but ignores it, for her own sake. "Does that make it better?"

She huffs, her fingers still clutching his shirt. "Yes."

"Okay. It doesn't. . .feel different to me."

"It did to me."

"Slicing up your thigh wasn't sexual?"

"No."

He doesn't want to argue this, but he *does* want to know. He needs to know. In a sick and twisted way, understanding it is what gives him closure, peace. If he understands, then that knowledge is like a talisman against future darkness, a protective spell that binds black magic.

"What was it then?"

"Scientific. Experimentation."

He shivers, but she's remarkably composed. Her hand has eased; she smooths the wrinkles out of his shirt.

"Inquiring minds want to know," he chokes, his throat raw.

"Yes." She hesitates over her next words, as if she has long planned this speech but now that the time is here, doesn't know whether it will work. "I never. . .said much about it to you because you were so. . .protective of me."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again, before he can even think what he is apologizing for. Being protective, acting like a male of the species, implying that she can't protect herself. One of those. All of them.

"No. I. . .that saved my life, Castle. Don't apologize for it."

"I went apeshit and somehow managed to dislocate both thumbs, attack a serial killer, and put a machete into him?"

"Well," she says slowly, lifting her eyes to meet his. "You did."

"Do you remember it?"

"Pieces."

"I don't remember it."

"'Roid rage," she deadpans.

He laughs, thankful for the gallows humor, drops a kiss into her hair. "All right. I was protective. That's a given."

"I just. . .didn't think you wanted to hear it. The details."

"I thought you wouldn't want to share them. Wouldn't want me to. . .know."

"Like Nikki here."

He nods.

"I don't have any problem telling you. If you really want to know."

"I do," he breathes out, catching her look. "I need to know. It's easier. . .knowing."

She nods. "I think so too." Kate shifts against him, starts unbuttoning her jeans. Castle perks up, a little confused but always ready to see Kate strip off clothes.

"What are you. . .doing?"

"I'm gonna show you something. Settle down, stud."

He grins, and she tugs her jeans off and exposes her inside thigh. The scars really aren't that bad, barely visible. They've the look of orderly stretch marks, but they're raised instead. Silvery with time.

"See these?"

He nods, swallows hard remembering the scalpel against her skin, the blood coursing down her leg, drenched. It was only when the Butcher brought out the machete that Castle lost it. He does remember, vaguely, the fillet knife.

"Scalpel," he murmurs.

"And the knife. More with the knife."

"I can't. . .remember all of that."

"Someone should be able to forget," she says, and he thinks she's teasing him. It's hard to tell.

She takes his hand and uses his finger to trace the lines. He thought spiderweb before, or a cracked mirror, but there really is a pattern to it.

"Scientific. To see how it works," she says. "This cut here was the deepest. To the muscle."

"You had stitches."

"Mm," she murmurs, guides his finger over the inside of her thigh. The places that required stitches have left the least scarring. "Muscle here, the insertion point. That's what he was after. Kept probing the cut to get a better look."

He does have that picture, the Butcher hunched over her, maneuvering the blade deeper. The arch of Kate's back, the way her body shook with agony. Castle takes a breath to clear it out. "He was. . .medical examiner?"

"More like vivisectionist."

Castle shudders, pressing his palm flat against her thigh, blocking it from view. Blocking it all out.

"Does it. . .repulse you?" she asks gently, like she won't judge him if it does.

"No! God, no. Kate." He cups her thigh and smooths his thumb over the lines, brings his chin to rest on her shoulder, their cheeks close. "It's your own battle scar. Badge of honor, remember?"

She nods.

"You're sexy as hell, Kate Beckett."

She grins, her face turning in to his so he can feel that smile.

"It's a reminder to never take this for granted," he says finally.

She nods, brings her hand to his cheek. "Do you. . .want to stop?"

"There's more?"

"I could tell you what happened before. . .you got there."

Castle takes a long, deep breath, closes his eyes to search out his cowardly soul. Doe he want to know?

"Will it help you to tell me?"

She brushes her fingers into the hair at his temple, kisses the side of his nose. "I don't know. I'd like to finish the book though. So maybe after it's done?"

He nods, relieved. "I think that's a good idea."

"Is any of this from Rook's point of view?"

He sighs. "Yes."

"How close is it?"

"Pretty much. . .dead on."

She nods, sits up a little to dislodge him. Castle leans back against the headboard, missing her warmth, but his hand is still on her thigh, her jeans kicked off somewhere at the foot of the bed.

It might be strange, to touch her like this while she reads about Carver slicing up Nikki, but he can't remove his hand. He keeps it still at least, lets the warmth from her thigh seep into his skin, heat his chilled fingers.

She pulls the laptop closer and cradles it right up against her, lays her head back on his chest.

"I'm ready."

Castle believes her again.


	99. Chapter 99

_Jameson Rook is an investigative journalist who has been embedded with military forces in Afghanistan during a land mine sweep, who has bullied his way to an exclusive interview with a South American dictator at the peril of his own tongue, and who has finagled his way into a ride-along with Detective Nikki Heat despite her overwhelming antagonism._

_But Jameson Rook has never been so abjectly terrified in his entire life._

_And now that it's over, basically over, and the threat removed, his terror has built to a keening and irrational level that he can't climb down from. He thinks, perhaps, that this is what it feels like to experience a psychotic break._

_He has been beaten close to death. His hands are not recognizable. He has been stabbed. Somewhere. A quarter of the blood is his. Most of it is hers._

_Maybe this is the reason for the unmitigated jabbering, the mindless noise raging in his body._

_Carver is in a disgraceful pile of limbs near the door to Nikki's bedroom, a hatchet embedded in his neck. Rook thinks she did this. He's pretty sure Carver didn't do it to himself, and since Rook couldn't hold a feather, let alone a hatchet, since Rook is a shaking, numb thing still tied to the chair, his face a bloodied pulp, he's pretty sure Nikki did it._

_She's naked still, and bleeding from a thousand wounds, but she's at his knees, struggling to untie him._

_He realizes that the chanting, inchoate sounds are actually him, Jameson Rook, babbling her name, over and over. He thinks maybe he's been doing that since he opened her apartment door with the key he stole to find her tied down spread-eagle on her bed, her eyes bleeding hopelessness._

_NikkiNikkiNikkiNik-_

_He jerks when she touches his face, her fingers over his mouth to silence him. But he realizes his legs are free, even though there's no feeling in his feet, and she's moved to untie his hands and he stares, dumbly, at the bedframe she had been lashed to, ready for slaughter._

_Oh. That explains it._

_The rope at what was her left hand looks chewed through, most likely by one of the serrated blades still arranged along her nightstand. No, actually, by the serrated blade now lodged in his thigh. She didn't do that, but she might have caused Carver to do it. He doesn't remember clearly. His mouth is dry; he turns his throbbing head to look at her._

_Most of the blood is hers. His is a quarter of it, because his blood has soaked into his shirt, has puffed up the tender places under the skin of his face, has run between his legs. Jameson Rook was not given the privilege of being a live pet surgical project, merely a punching bag. A psychological trap for Nikki._

_His hands come free and he pitches forward, unable to hold himself up, or move to save himself from the fall. Nikki is at his back; he hears the groan that comes out of his mouth._

_"Jamie, Jamie, stay with me-"_

_Her blood drops into his eye; he rouses and feels her flipping him over. He can't feel his feet or his arms to the shoulders; he can only see the haze of his own bruised flesh, the red of her blood dripping._

_"I called. . .help. . .on the way."_

_The blood is mostly hers._

_But she's the one who saves him._

Kate closes the laptop and shoves it down the bed, turns in Castle's arms to bury her face in his neck. He seems stunned, but he wraps a loose arm around her waist, waits her out.

She doesn't know what to say; she assumes that Nikki and Rook care for each other's injuries, that all is right in their world by the end of the book. She's just not sure she can read it right now. Not anymore.

How nice of him to warn her.

"You don't like it," he says quietly. "I'll delete it. Delete all of it-"

Kate presses a hand to his mouth to shut him up for a second (like Nikki does; she really *is* Nikki), takes a deep breath to gather the frayed edges of her control.

He goes silent; she drops her hand, still struggling against the choking build-up of tears in her throat.

"This is. . .the last book of the contract," he says softly.

Kate lifts her head, stares at him.

"If you. . .want. . .it could be the last Nikki Heat book period."

What?

"They haven't given me a new contract yet; they're waiting to see how the sales of this last book go. Well, to tell the truth, we're holding out for more money, since each Heat book has been so successful. But what it means, Kate, is that if you say so, this is it for the series. It could end like this."

"Are they together at the end of this one?"

He nods.

"Why?"

"Why are they together?"

She grunts at his response and sits up. "Why would you stop?" Kate is surprised at her own sorrow, as if it is a death.

"You can maybe get your name back. Stop getting harassed at work for it, harassed in the street. In a few years, without any new Nikki Heat books, maybe you'll stop being the focus of people's attention."

"But I. . .do *you* want to stop?"

Castle only looks at her; she doesn't like the look either, the self-effacing love mixed with resigned regret. It's not a good look on him. It's wrong.

"Castle. Write your books. Whatever books you want to write, with whatever character you want. I'm not. . .this isn't about me."

Is he laughing?

"Kate. Oh God, it's always about you. Always has been about you."

She sits back on her heels, knocks her hand into the laptop on accident, sends it sliding a few inches back down the bed. Carver. Jameson Rook's bloodied face. Nikki Heat sawing through the ropes, every movement of the stolen blade another slice up the inside of her wrist. Heat jerking forward, suddenly free, to stab the blade into Carver's eye, taking the hatchet from his clawing hand and hacking at the ropes around her other arm, her ankles, then putting it into Carver's neck when he lunges for her.

Kate shivers. "This isn't a mystery novel. This is horror."

"With a mystery?"

Kate rubs at her eyes. "I don't want you to stop writing Nikki Heat. But where does she go after this?" To another horror novel, ever increasing the tension, the splash of inhumanity, Nikki growing ever more battered, tortured, alone.

"Greek Islands. On Rook's romance-novel money. For three weeks."

Kate laughs, lifts a hand to push the hair out of her eyes. "Is that in the novel?"

He nods once. "At the end."

So it *could* be the last in the Nikki Heat series. After a few years, she might even get her professional respect back, she might not get stopped on the street, she might not have his crazy fans ask for her to autograph their books as Nikki. She might imagine Rook and Nikki holed up in the Greek Isles for the rest of their lives.

She's about to open her mouth when she hears the plaintive cry of her son, flopping over in the bed to whine up at her.

"Momma. Momma, bed."

Kate turns to Dashiell and brushes the hair of his eyes. "Yeah, baby, bedtime."

He lifts his arms to her. "Bed. Peas?"

Oh. *His* bed. She smothers a smile and lifts him up, cradling him against her chest, breathing in his warm smell.

"Want me to-"

"No." Kate rises from the bed with her son in her arms, a hand at the back of his head. His sleepy body is heavy; he rubs his face into her shirt. "No. I think I need this. I'll be right back."

* * *

><p>Kate Beckett sits in the black darkness of her son's room, her eyes closed, her nose pressed against Dashiell's soft hair.<p>

Her legs have stopped shaking. Her mind is no longer crowded. She hears only the slow breaths of her son, feels only the heavy weight of him anchoring her to the world. She draws patterns on his back with her fingers, hypnotizing him into drowsy submission.

He has thrown one little arm around her neck to play with her hair; his fingers still swirl around and around.

She should be thinking, deciding. She should be sorting things out. But this isn't the place for it; this heavy weight, this quiet and breathing darkness, this love doesn't allow for it.

"Momma," Dash murmurs, lifts his head from her chest, then drops back down, heavily.

"Right here, baby," she whispers back, kissing the spot where his forehead and his hair meet.

Her body is boneless, her skin without scars in the dark. He is heavy, and he is halfway to sleep, and he saves her.

He saves her.

It doesn't matter anymore, what she thought when she found out she was pregnant. It doesn't matter what terrible event pushed her, finally, into Castle's arms. It doesn't matter that he poked his nose into her mother's case, went where he wasn't wanted. It doesn't matter that she gained the attention of a writer - her writer - and lost all claims to privacy, as well as her solitude.

This is what matters. This and only this, the soft and warm body of her son as he fights oncoming sleep, murmuring her name in that way only he can, playing with her hair.

She presses her lips to skin, holds them there, her eyes closed to soak in every sound, every touch. She rocks slowly, listening to their breathing in the darkness, lulled by the motion, by the warmth.

"Daddy," the boy murmurs.

And he's right; his father is slipping in through the door, softly and quietly at least, padding towards them on bare feet. He drops his hand on top of Kate's head, drifts down to her shoulder, then combs his fingers through Dashiell's hair.

"Good night, Dash."

Castle sinks to the floor beside them, leans his head against the side of the rocker. Kate closes her eyes again, frees a hand to slide it into his hair, along his jawline, brushing at the stubble there.

"Nikki Heat needs some happy, Rick."

He murmurs something like agreement.

"Even in a bed with Rook in the Greek Isles isn't enough."

"Oh?"

"Nikki needs a baby."

Castle laughs softly in the darkness, but she's serious. "Kate, love, if I get her pregnant in the Greek Isles, I don't think Nikki will ever forgive me."

She smiles over his head, wonders if he heard the way he said that. "Maybe you should leave that to Rook. But no, not in the Greek Isles. You'll have to work your way up to it. It will take time. And lots of pages. Maybe a hundred chapters."

He turns his head, as if he could see her in the darkness. He can't. But she brushes her fingers along his eyes, feels his lids flutter against her skin, his lashes. His face feels confused, hopeful.

"A hundred chapters, Rick."

"That's. . .6 more books."

"If that's what it takes."

He captures her hand and kisses her palm. She curls her fingers into it, holds it for later, manages to bring his head up so she can kiss his mouth, dry and chaste at first, a thank you as he hovers just over his son. Then her tongue seeks entrance, glides along his lips, meets the hard edge of his teeth. He moans and breathlessly calls her name, asks her to stop.

Kate pulls back, is reminded of where they are. Dashiell, between them, is asleep but lightly, his little mouth moving as he breathes, as he makes settling noises.

"Take him," she whispers, gently easing her son away from her chest. "Put him to bed."

Castle's wide palms carry their son easily; he stands and moves towards the crib. She watches the barest hint of movement in the darkness, hears him furling the blanket over the top like a tent, then feels him come to stand next to her.

"He's down for the count," Castle whispers, leaning in to brush her ear with his lips, to sigh.

She wants to make love to him, but she wants to do it his way, slow and steady and careful. More of those girly, amazing sighs of his, more of the way he stares down into her eyes like she is the most beautiful thing ever.

Kate talks around another kiss. "Where did you put the laptop?"

"In the study."

"Good. Come to bed."

"Yes."


	100. Chapter 100

Castle drifts awake, slowly, warm and heavy in bed. He swallows past his dry mouth and opens an eye to look at the clock.

It's seven in the morning. They went to bed around eleven. Kate has to go back to work today.

He sighs and listens, letting his eyes drift closed again. But he doesn't hear the shower, doesn't hear her in the kitchen either.

Castle rolls over and finds himself face to face with Kate. Still sleeping Kate. Beautiful, amazing Kate.

She has a hand curled up under her chin, her lips parted just like Dashiell's when he's fast asleep. Castle struggles to remember what time she said she wanted to get to work this morning.

It's seven. In the morning.

"Hey, Kate," he whispers, grunts as his voice cracks with sleep. He lifts a heavy hand and brushes her cheek. "Kate. Kate, it's seven."

Her lashes part slowly. She blinks and meets his eyes, turns her face back into the pillow with a sigh.

Castle chuckles under his breath and props his chin up on his fist, then pushes on her shoulder. "Kate. It's seven o'clock already."

She lifts her head, apparently more awake now, then draws her arms up under the pillow, pushes against the bed. Kate turns her head back to him, about as sleep-drugged as he's ever seen her.

"Kate?"

"Seven?"

"Yeah, babe, it's seven in the morning."

She grunts at 'babe' and moves over him to look at the clock, her warm body against his. "Seven."

"Kate. Seven. Work today."

"Ah, crap. It's seven." She pushes off of him, launching herself from the bed. "I'm late."

He sits up, watches her shed clothes as she heads for the bathroom, stumbling a little. She disappears around the corner; he hears the water come on.

Kate pokes her head back around. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I just woke up."

She steps out of the bathroom in only her underwear, sleepy confusion on her face. "What about Dash?"

He shakes his head. "Monitor's on."

"But. I mean, all night?"

"What? All night, what?"

She shoves a hand through her hair. "I never got him. Did you ever go get him?"

Castle shakes his head and drags his legs over the side of the bed. "I never heard him."

"I didn't hear him either."

"Did he sleep through the night?" Castle asks, getting to his feet. "Wait. Did *you* sleep through the night?"

She blinks, backs up as steam rolls out from the open door, heading back for her shower. "I guess so."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Who knew your novel was so. . .soporific?" She flashes him a grin.

"Oh, that's so not cool," he mutters, stalking towards her. "That was a good word. A two dollar word. Sexy *and* insulting."

"O Captain," she murmurs, lifting an eyebrow at him even as she heads further into the bathroom.

He's awake now. "I know you're late. But maybe-"

She's already stripping off her underwear. "Get in, Castle. It'll have to be quick."

He can do quick. See? Shirt's off. Boxers gone. Ready.

Kate quirks her lips at him and pushes him towards the shower door.

* * *

><p>He gets out first, pulls on clean clothes while she washes her hair. Castle heads for the kitchen with the baby monitor in hand, but Dash is still asleep.<p>

He *was* sick yesterday.

Castle pauses in the living room, debating the merit of looking in on his son. He's pretty sure that opening the door will wake the boy up. He nudges the volume louder on the monitor and listens carefully to the white noise. The hum of the air conditioner, the rustle of breath and sheets, the sudden sighs: the night time sounds of a baby's room.

Well, the kid is breathing. And his temperature was hovering around normal last night by the time they put him to bed in his own room.

Castle retreats to the kitchen and checks the coffee. Kate set the timer for it last night, so it's already filled the coffee pot to the brim, with the rich smell of caffeine heavy in the air. Castle pulls bread out of the fridge and loads his double-wide trailer-toaster with four slices, sets it to brown.

He lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and opens the fridge again, standing in the cold to stare dumbly at the contents. What does he want for breakfast? Eggs. Mmm, bacon. He'll probably end up getting two of those slices of toast. Oh, or Dash will. And Dash loves eggs too.

Castle pulls out a carton eggs, the package of bacon, sets about getting breakfast made.

Kate walks into the kitchen dressed for work in black pants, a white dress shirt, her hair straightened. She smells good, brushes away the redolent odor of coffee with the fresh scent of her shampoo, her lotion. It's not the vanilla stuff anymore either.

"Cherry," he says, startled by it.

She glances up at him, eyebrows knitting together. "What?"

"Cherry again?"

She breaks into a smile. "Yeah. Right. Cherry. I had some in the back and pulled it out yesterday."

He grins and leans in to kiss her neck, taking a deep breath of that scent. "I thought it made you sick."

She pats his cheek. "Just when I was pregnant. And then I liked the vanilla stuff. So I just. . ." She shrugs and nods to the pan. "What're you making?"

"Scrambled eggs. I, uh, didn't think you'd want any. I put toast in for you."

"I don't want eggs, no. But thanks." She heads for the toast, manages to get there right as they pop up. He can still smell her over the coffee, over the eggs he's scrambling. Cherry scent. Like the beginning.

He smiles at her, watches her cram the toast into her mouth to free her hands for the coffee. Castle glances back to check the eggs, turns them down a little, and then watches Kate pour coffee into a travel mug.

Travel mug. Yeah, she *is* technically late. He glances at the clock. Eh. She might make it if she takes the car.

"The keys to the Audi are in the bowl," he says, studying the eggs and flipping them over.

"What?"

"The keys-"

"I'm not taking your-" She pauses; Castle risks a glance over at her. She's looking at the clock. "Right. Yes. I'll take. . .our car."

He nods. "It might need gas by the end of the day."

"I'll use the motor-pool car if I have to chase down anything."

"Park it in the garage then, will ya?" He gives her an apologetic look. He hates to have the Audi out on the street all day, but Kate often parks the Crown Vic out there. Of course, she uses the Crown Vic all day long, and it doesn't wind up sitting there like the Audi would.

"Yeah, no problem." She leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. "Mind if I get Dash up before I go?"

"Sure, fine."

He scrapes eggs off the side of the pan, but Kate hasn't moved away yet. He glances at her in surprise; she lowers her piece of toast to the counter, places her coffee mug next to it.

"Kate-?"

She slides between him and the stovetop, wraps her arms around his neck, presses herself against him. "I love you."

He uses his free hand to cradle the back of her head, presses his lips to her forehead. "Love you too." He squeezes the back of her neck. "Go get your son."

* * *

><p>"Momma. No wok."<p>

Kate sighs and straightens Dashiell's shirt down over his belly. "Yeah, baby, work."

"Momma. No wok."

"I'll see you when I get home, sweetheart." She tugs the jeans up over his clean diaper, snaps them shut, then stands him up on the changing table. "You'll have fun with Daddy."

Dashiell whines and leans into her, rubbing his face in her neck. She tries to avoid his getting her shirt, adjusts his jeans as he stands. "Tote."

Kate grins. "Yeah, Daddy made us both some toast."

She gathers him up and heads out of his room, meeting Alexis in the hallway. She gets a surprise hug from the girl.

"Hey, Mom."

It puts a strange fluttering in her chest, still, to hear Alexis say that. "Hey. Morning."

"Going back today?"

Kate makes a face. "Yeah."

"I've got a class in a few, but I'll be back here tonight. That's. . .okay, right?"

"Of course. How was your talk with Ashley?" Dashiell squirms against her chest, whining. "Hush baby. Hold on."

"Um. I don't know exactly. We talked for hours. All night. And it was nice, just like it was. He's coming over tonight." Alexis looks hesitant.

"Hey, that's a step forward. Right?" Kate lets Dashiell slide down her leg to the floor, but he doesn't run off. He clings to her pants and steps on her foot, butting her thigh with his head. "Dash, stop."

"It is. I guess. I don't know exactly what I want here."

"Well, you wanted to talk to him, because he's your best friend. Right? So just start there, Alexis."

The girl throws her arms around Kate again and squeezes tightly. "Thank you."

Dashiell squirms between them, lifting his arms. "Carry you."

Kate lets go of Alexis, shakes her head at Dash. "Don't you want to walk down the stairs?"

"Carry you," he insists.

Kate picks him up, kisses his cheek. "All right. I'll baby you until I have to go."

Alexis blows Dash a kiss as she heads for the bathroom. "Have a good day at work."

* * *

><p>At the door, Kate hesitates. It's not that she doesn't want to go, but it's difficult to leave her family in the middle like this. Alexis is teasing her father, Dashiell is banging his wooden spoon against the highchair tray. The room is filled with morning light; they've made plans to attend the Yankees game on Thursday night, if Kate's free by then. She watches for a moment, takes a deep breath.<p>

Castle catches sight of her at the door and breaks away from Alexis to hurry across the living room. He wraps Kate in a hug before she has a chance to say anything.

"Trying to sneak out?"

"Yeah," she admits, laughing. "I think it's the only way I'm gonna get out of here."

"I already miss you," he whispers, his lips against her ear.

She gives in to the urge and kisses him deep, her tongue insistent against his, cradling his jaw, breathless. When they break apart, she leans her forehead against his, tries to ignore the voice in her head telling her how *late* it is. How she needs to go. Right now.

"Meet me for lunch?"

"Oh?"

"If you bring it with you, I could get away for thirty minutes. Meet you in that park-"

"Yeah. Sounds perfect."

"I hate this," she groans, making a fist in his shirt. "Hate this."

"What's that?"

"Leaving you. I hate leaving you."

He rumbles with laughter against her, cups the back of her head to kiss her again. "It's not my first day of school, Kate. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, but will *I* be fine?"

He pushes her back a little, nudging her towards the door. "How about Leia?"

"Leia?" She's distracted by the happy noises of her son just over Castle's shoulder.

"We can call her Princess."

Kate does a doubletake and groans. "We are not calling her Princess Leia. Stars Wars is banned."

He pouts a little, pushing her closer to the open front door. "You said I get to pick."

"You do. But I get to veto. *And* Castle, our girl's not even here yet. She doesn't even exist."

"We can work on that tonight-"

"Won't do any good," she says back. "You haven't seen Dr. Glazer yet."

"Practice makes perfect, Kate."

She laughs, the heat spilling in her cheeks, her chest, rising up through her. "I can see the wisdom in that."

"Smart girl."

"Girl?"

"Woman," he says hastily. "Definitely all woman." His lips along her ear make her fist clench in his shirt.

"I gotta go," she whispers.

"You do." He nudges again, bumping her body with his own until she realizes they are outside the loft now.

She sighs and breaks away from him. "Lunch."

"We'll be there."

She takes a last look at Castle, that warm and wide smile on his face because he knows she wants to come back inside and practice right now, then she takes another step back, keys in her hand, badge on her hip, gun in its holster at her back.

Castle reaches out and tugs on the lapels of her jacket to bring her in for one last kiss, warm and tasting of breakfast. He hands her the travel mug, which she must have left on the entry table, then he kisses her again, deeper, and she can't do anything but take it, her hands too full to even touch him like she wants too.

"Cherries," he sighs.

She grins, then finds the strength to walk away.

But she'll be back. Sooner rather than later, no matter what's going on at the 12th.


End file.
